


The Breaking of Harmon Rabb

by NavyVet90



Category: JAG
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Dark, Disability, Emotional, Epic, Explicit Language, F/M, Gang Rape, M/M, Mindfuck, Non Consensual, POV Third Person, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Slavery, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 241,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NavyVet90/pseuds/NavyVet90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A JAG fanfiction psychological thriller.  When the unspeakable happens to Commander Rabb, will he be strong enough to pick up the pieces of his shattered mind and life?  A dark, erotic saga of evil, mind control, betrayal, survival, and recovery.<br/>PAIRINGS: Harm/other (m/m non-con); Webb/Mac; Harm/Mac<br/>RATING:  FRAO overall (for slash rape, violence, sex, smut, language, extreme angst, etc.)  Chapter 1 only is rated FRM for language, adult situations.<br/>This is an epic length novel in the 241,000+ word range and is now complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Abduction

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: This is a long, *graphic* slave/torture/rape/recovery/hurt/comfort fic, NOT a TV episode. High squirk factor. Chapter 2 is especially intense, disturbing, and not for the faint of heart. Please skip it if you are easily squirked or offended.  
> SPOILERS: Season 9, up to episode "Close Quarters". AU; story begins right after Rabb gets reinstated at JAG (Nov 2003), but the whole Mattie guardianship thing, or the rest of season 9, does NOT happen in my timeline.  
> DISCLAIMERS: The show JAG and all of its characters belong to Belisarius. I don't own them, merely compelled to borrow them to tell this story. Other original characters are mine. Any similarities to real people or other authors' works are purely coincidental. No copyright infringements intended. Zero profit made.  
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Many thanks for the wonderful Beta work by Bobbie T., whose time, attention to detail, ideas and encouragement are greatly appreciated.  
> FEEDBACK: Pretty please, feed me.

CHAPTER 1 - THE ABDUCTION

Friday evening, 1900 hours, at JAG Headquarters, and Commander Harmon Rabb was alone with his thoughts. The rest of the staff members had gradually filtered out between 1700 and 1800 hours, off to begin their weekend. Rabb was sitting at his desk, which was covered with stacks of files everywhere, but he found himself unable to concentrate on the overwhelming pile of paperwork that he had yet to sift through. His thoughts kept wandering to the recent events that had transpired and he was beginning to wonder whether being back at JAG was such a good thing after all. Most of his colleagues had seemed cordial to him since his return, but the cool reception from two people, in particular, Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie and Admiral Chegwidden, made him feel like a persona non grata. Rabb was more than a little annoyed at being stuck with all these old case files, wondering just a little bit if this was the Admiral's way of punishing him. He felt as though he were starting over from scratch, having to prove himself and earn respect for his abilities all over again. After the excitement of his missions during his short-lived stint with the CIA, all this paperwork felt a bit boring and mundane. It had been a long, tedious week and all he wanted was a little down time to unwind. However, he was still not even close to being caught up, and being tired and preoccupied was not helping him focus on the work at hand.

Harm looked at his watch - 1923 hours. 'Damn it,' he thought, 'so much for a couple of days off.' He realized he was not going to get anything more done tonight and debated only whether he should take the files and work at home or come back here tomorrow and spend the day, or however long it took, in the office. 'Too much to carry,' he decided as he looked over the semi-sorted, barely organized mess. 'I'll start fresh in the morning. Maybe I can think clearly then.' He certainly didn't want to give his commanding officer any more reasons to be angry with him. Rabb had pulled some stunts in his time, but he really hated being on the Admiral's bad side, and he felt he had to prove himself all over again. He was determined to get it all finished by Monday morning, but right now he felt the need to relax and to get a good night's sleep. With a sigh, he grabbed his cover, turned off his office lights, and headed for the elevator.

Harm was far from relaxed, even after he arrived at his apartment. On the entire drive home, his mind was preoccupied with two people in his life who mattered a great deal to him, whose opinions were important to him. Chegwidden's attitude towards him seemed abrupt and distant, especially upon his reinstatement and return to JAG. 'Damn it, is he ever going to forgive me for resigning my commission?' he asked himself. 'You would think the man would have understood that I did what I had to do. I mean this was Mac we were talking about.' Mac. Thinking about Mac was even worse. If only the entire Paraguay incident, and the chain of events it caused, hadn't happened. Since then, as friends, they were farther apart than ever. Harm found himself blaming Clayton Webb for dragging Mac into that mission in the first place.

The first thing Harm did after stepping into his loft and throwing his keys and his cover on the kitchen counter, was to head over to the fridge in search of a beer. He stood there with the door open, staring at the lack of contents, and realizing he had completely forgotten to stock up on supplies. 'Crap! The last thing I feel like doing is going to the store.' All he wanted to do was to turn off his brain for a couple of hours. As he paced restlessly, he decided it was just too early to even attempt going to bed, he wasn't particularly hungry, and he didn't feel like sitting around alone. He decided he had better do something before he really started to feel sorry for himself, so he hung up his Service Dress Blues, grabbed a quick shower and changed into jeans and a thick, beige, fisherman-knit sweater. He put on his leather jacket, picked up his car keys and wallet and went in search of a bar.

At 2038 hours, Harm ambled into a local dive, not far from his own neighborhood, fully intending to spend no more than an hour and have just a couple of brews. He had been there before and the place was a short, easy drive home and had a laid back atmosphere. There was a fair sized crowd, more than Harm would have preferred, but people usually minded their own business. It was a Friday night, after all. He noticed there were only 3 empty stools at the long bar, but they were all together and Harm plunked his six on the middle one. He caught the bartender's eye and waited until the guy had a chance to come stand in front of him.

"What'll ya have?"

"What's on draft?" Harm countered. The bartender rattled off a short list and Harm chose one. Once the tall glass was set in front of him, he picked it up and quickly gulped about half the contents before setting the glass back down on the bar. Harm leaned forward, resting both elbows on the bar, vowing to nurse the rest of the beer more slowly. He ignored the muted television screen on the wall, staring instead into the amber colored liquid in his glass. Harm's thoughts turned to Mac once again. He felt frustrated and confused. Mac had put up walls and was more distant than ever. Since Harm's return to JAG Headquarters, she was strictly business, even avoiding him. He couldn't seem to find an opportunity to just talk to her, and she definitely wasn't speaking to him unless it was on a professional level. Harm realized he had made his share of mistakes, but what if their entire friendship was at risk? He couldn't imagine if he lost her completely and the thought depressed him. How did things get to this point? What had he done that was so wrong? 'I saved her life in Paraguay, for Christ's sake,' he thought. 'You'd think she could have been just a little grateful.'

For the next hour or so, the bartender kept refilling Harm's beer glass when it was empty, and Harm kept drinking. A younger man, clean cut with light sandy brown hair in a short typically military style, came up to the bar and stood near Harm's right elbow. He was not quite as tall as Harm, but gave the appearance of being powerfully built. Harm barely acknowledged his presence with a slight nod.

"Is this seat taken?" the man asked.

"No, go ahead," Harm answered and swallowed the last bit of his current beer. Had it been three or four or five? He hadn't been paying attention. The man sat down, ordered a beer, and glanced over at Harm.

"Rough day at work?"

"Got a lot on my mind, I guess." Harm was really not in the mood to make small talk with a stranger, at least not a male stranger.

"Looks more like you lost your best friend," the young man persisted.

"Maybe," Harm snorted, looking straight ahead through his glass that had been filled yet again. He couldn't stop thinking about Mac, not wanting to imagine what would have happened to her if he hadn't risked his entire career, gone to Paraguay and rescued her when he did. After all, Clayton Webb was useless. He had been beaten and tortured half to death and could no longer protect Mac from the same fate. Then Harm had to witness that kiss between Mac and Webb. What was that all about? Every time he pictured that scene, he felt a pang of jealously and hurt. Harm had been willing to give up the Navy for Mac, but Webb nearly died for her. Nothing about this was fair.

Harm didn't even notice that someone had taken the seat to the left of him. This man had darker, longer hair and was at least as muscular as the younger man sitting to Harm's right. The first man nudged Harm's right elbow.

"Check out the hot babe that just walked in," he said to Harm, nodding towards the front door. Harm turned on his stool and looked back over his right shoulder to watch a very attractive woman with long blonde hair and great legs walk across the room in her very high heels. While he was enjoying the view, the man to his left swiftly and quietly dropped something into Harm's beer. Harm turned back, looked down at his watch and realized it was well past 2200 hours.

"Jeez, I gotta get going, guess this will have to be my last one," he said as he picked up his glass and took a few swigs. He knew he needed to get an early start in the morning, so he motioned to the bartender to settle up his tab. He had not planned to get buzzed and he was beginning to regret not having eaten dinner. The beers hadn't even helped get his mind off what was bothering him. 'So much for unwinding,' he thought. He finished off what was left in his glass while waiting to hand over his money, which took another couple of minutes. Harm was glad the distance to his apartment was short and he felt confident that he could make it home without too much difficulty. Then he stood up.

"Whoa," Harm faltered and nearly lost his balance as he stepped back. He was feeling really light-headed, so he stuck his arm out, grabbing onto the bar stool to steady himself. He didn't think he'd had that many drinks, for them to be hitting him this hard.

"Hey, buddy, you sure you're okay to drive?" the young man asked as he stood up and gripped Harm's right upper arm, as if to help him. Harm just looked at him blankly, trying to focus on the guy's face. Now the room was officially starting to spin.

"Maybe I'll just go sit in my car," Harm's words were slightly slurred.

The bartender looked concerned and called out to them, "Want me to call for a cab?"

"Nah, we got it covered, thanks," the sandy haired man holding onto Harm answered. He made eye contact with the darker man as a signal. The second man then came up from the other side without a word and grabbed Harm's left arm. "Don't worry, we'll get you home," the first man added, as the two of them positioned Harm in between them with an arm slung around each of their necks.

"Wait ..." Harm tried to protest, but nothing was working right, especially not his legs. The two strong men turned to the door and half carried, half dragged him outside to the parking lot, holding him up as he tried to walk under his own power, but he kept swaying and tripping over his own feet. On outward appearances, it looked to anyone like they were just helping a friend who was way too drunk. An alarm went off in Harm's head as they reached the cold night air. Something definitely felt wrong. He felt very dizzy, his vision blurred. He tried to struggle now, but it was no use. He barely made out the outline of his SUV, which was parked next to a van. The noise of the van's side door sliding open sounded so far away, and he was losing all sense of feeling. 'I think I'm in deep trouble' was his last coherent thought. By the time Harm was unceremoniously dumped into the back of that van, he had completely lost consciousness. The two men jumped into the front and drove off into the cold, dark night.

END OF CHAPTER 1

TBC in CHAPTER 2 – HARM'S PUNISHMENT

******************************************


	2. Harm's Punishment (Chapter 2a)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was too long to fit, so it has been split into two parts. This is Chapter 2 (a).  
> *** Additional Warnings: Chapter 2 deals with issues of m/m rape, torture, bdsm, sexual slavery, brainwashing, and contains graphic violence, language, slash smut, and tons of angst. Very bad things happen to our hero, Harm. Please skip to Chapter 3 unless you can handle high squick factor. You have been amply warned. ***

CHAPTER 2a - HARM'S PUNISHMENT

**************

Harmon Rabb gradually came to a state of awareness feeling like he had a severe hangover, strangely different from an ordinary hangover. By keeping his eyes closed and not moving, he hoped that the nausea and pounding headache would lessen. He groaned audibly and noticed that other than that and the sound of his own breathing, there was complete silence. He began to awaken a bit more and became aware that his head was not resting on anything, but rather hanging limply with his chin towards his chest. It felt so odd when he lifted his head up.

'What the hell?' Suddenly, full alertness rushed his brain and, at the same time, his eyes flew open, his entire body tensed up, his arms and legs jerked, causing pain to radiate from his wrists and ankles, and he could hear the noise of clanking metal. Harm couldn't see a thing in the pitch-black darkness, and he struggled harder, unable to move, until he was sweating and panting, near panic.

'Oh-god-oh-god ... where the hell am I?' He tried to get a grip and assess his situation, taking a deep breath, needing to think clearly. He started with the assumption that there was nothing wrong with his eyes, that he must be held somewhere that not a sliver of light could get in. He wondered how long he had been here, wherever *here* was, and how he got here. He recalled the guy at the bar, no, make that two guys, and the way they hustled him out of the bar. It was the last thing he could remember. Harm's brain was still foggy - had he stupidly lost control or was he set up? At this point he didn't know anything. He brought his attention back to his body, since all he seemed to be able to do at this moment was feel. He felt queasy, as though he wasn't on solid ground, and his empty stomach growled with hunger. How many hours had passed? He appeared to be lying face down on something, as he could feel his weight pressing down against his chest and stomach. His arms were stretched out straight to the sides at shoulder level and he was able to wiggle his fingers and clench his fists. He tried to pull his arms in every direction, but something hard and tight was clamped around each wrist and all he could hear was that clinking metal sound. The same problem occurred when he tried to move his legs, his ankles obviously shackled as well. Harm wondered what the hell he was strapped to. Whatever held him prone seemed to sway ever so slightly as he struggled and pulled at the heavy shackles. His legs hung down at a ninety-degree angle from his body, feet spread wide apart, his toes barely touching the ground and it was an uncomfortable position. If only he could see his surroundings, this place was not only dark, but chilly and damp as well. He shivered, and then a horrific realization slowly dawned on him. He was completely and utterly ... naked.

"Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god!" Harm's voice raised in pitch as his panic level went up. His heart was pounding, his muscles twitching furiously against the bonds that held him fast. 'This is bad ... this is very, very bad,' he thought miserably. He felt exposed and vulnerable now and his attention focused directly on his cock hanging heavily between his legs. He supposed things could be worse; it could have been pinned up against his belly, squashed between his body and this thing he seemed to be trapped on. As he realized an urgent need to relieve himself, he wondered how many hours had passed since he was brought here, how much longer would he have to wait in the empty darkness, how much worse could things get, and how was he going to get himself out of this.

Countless questions raced through Harm's head, as it was becoming more and more difficult on him to hold his bladder. He was afraid to call out. Why bring his captors any sooner than necessary? Would anyone even hear him? Maybe no one would come and he was just going to be left here to die. No, that just didn't make any sense. Was this just some random perverse act because of his being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or was there a purpose to this? If this was all set up to extract information, what information could they want? Harm didn't have any information that he knew of, but hell, if they wanted him to talk, he could surely think of something to say. Who was behind all this? Maybe he could reason with them to let him go. Yeah, right. That obviously was not going to happen. He didn't know whether it was night or day. Was it even still Saturday? He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. No one would even miss him until Monday, and then only because he'd be UA.

"Shit," Harm cursed aloud. He was in considerable discomfort and couldn't wait much longer. "Hey ... is anybody there?" he yelled out against the darkness. Silence. "Where am I?" he tried again. Nothing. "Hey, I really gotta take a leak here!" he shouted. Harm waited, still nothing. He wondered what would happen if he just let go and what kind of ground was underneath him. "Aw, fuck it," he decided finally and he groaned with the satisfaction of relief as he listened to the sound of his stream of urine hitting the floor below.

Harm didn't have to wait long for the consequences of his actions. He heard the click of a door opening and snapped his head up, his eyes darting back and forth, unseeing in the darkness. Another click and a harsh, bright beam of light hit him square in the face, blinding him. He dropped his head down, blinking while his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden light. As he looked down, the floor slowly came into focus, and he could see that he was indeed suspended a few feet above it. As long as kept his head down, he could avoid the direct beam of light aimed at his face, like some ridiculous interrogation scene from a cheap movie. Harm heard footsteps coming up behind him, and he tensed visibly. Everything looked upside down from this angle, but he quickly glanced down his body, noticing some type of harness, apparently suspended from the ceiling, was actually supporting his torso. Four thick metal poles, two on either side of him, ran from floor to ceiling, and it was to these that his limbs were shackled. Harm now realized how wide apart his legs were spread, how exposed his ass and balls and cock were, and a flush of humiliation swept over him. The footsteps stopped behind him and he could see a pair of legs in khaki colored slacks and black boots a few inches from his right foot.

Whap! A sudden loud smack stung Harm's butt cheek. Harm gasped sharply and jumped as much at the unexpected shock as the actual pain.

"You stupid fuck, you pissed on my floor!" Another sharp smack landed on Harm's other cheek and this time he clenched his teeth, determined not to react. He didn't want to give his captor the satisfaction of thinking he could rattle him this easily. He looked back at the boots and then at the cement floor where the wet puddle was trailing towards a large drain. The boots were moving again, walking around the poles, passing Harm's right side, and then stopping again directly in front of him. Harm lifted his head as high as he could, squinting up past the light, trying to see his captor's face, but able only to make out an outline against the brightness.

"Who are you? Where am I? What do you want from me?" The flurry of Harm's questions got a low chuckle out of the man. Harm lowered his eyes to watch the man's hands, one hand holding the end of a long flat piece of wood, which he kept tapping against the palm of his other hand, inches from Harm's face. The empty hand reached out and caressed Harm's cheek, and Harm flinched from the touch. The hand continued upward, stroking past his temple, running fingers through his hair. Then his fist closed, yanking Harm's head back.

"Do you think you are in any position to be asking questions, pretty boy?" The man spoke in a soft, but intense voice.

"Go to hell," Harm shot back without thinking. The hand let go of Harm's hair.

"Oops, wrong answer," the man walked around to Harm's left side and brought the paddle down with a resounding smack across the fleshy part of Harm's ass, turning both cheeks pink. Harm hissed through his teeth - that one really stung.

"I just want to know why I'm here," said Harm, bracing himself for the inevitable flash of pain. But it didn't come this time.

"All in due time, pretty boy. I'll forgive you that slip since you don't know the rules yet. Just know this: I own you. You are mine to do with as I please, for as long as it takes." As he talked, he trailed his rough fingers across Harm's shoulder, down his back and drew circles over his ass cheeks, then walked around to stand behind him again. "Who I am doesn't matter, where you are is not important. This room is soundproof, so you may scream as loud as you'd like. No one is going to find you. Your sole purpose is to be obedient. You will learn to obey me; I can be gentle and generous. Good behavior will be rewarded, like food, water and so on. Bad behavior and breaking the rules, once you've learned them, will be punished. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, makes no difference to me. I'll enjoy you either way, so it's up to you." He laughed, then placed each of his hands on the back of Harm's thighs and stroked, moving his hands upward. Harm stiffened with fear, loathing, and disgust. He felt his cheeks being spread wider, a single finger sliding lightly over his puckered anus and he clenched at the horribly intimate exam. "Hmmm, not bad," the man continued. Then, when he cupped Harm's scrotal sac in his hand and began to fondle him, Harm lost control.

"Get away from me, you sick bastard!" Harm yelled, trembling with a combination of fear and rage.

"Your training starts right now, pretty boy!" He applied a firm grip on Harm's balls, squeezing hard.

"Ow! ... Owww!" Harm screamed in blinding pain.

"Rule number one: You will not speak without permission. Rule number two: You will address me as Master. Do you understand?" The man applied more pressure.

"Yes, yes ... please stop." Harm's breath came in ragged gasps.

"Wrong answer, try again," still not releasing Harm.

"Um ... oh-god ... yes ... master ... I understand." The pain made his eyes water and the room swim, and he hung his head in defeat. The vise-like grip ended.

"Good boy, that's a good boy." Harm felt fingers touching him again, this time soft and soothing, and his breath hitched. "There, there, it's okay now. You learned the correct response pretty quickly." The entire time he talked, he was gently massaging Harm's balls with occasional strokes across his limp cock, distracting him from his pain by replacing it with an intense feeling of shame and helplessness. A tear fell from Harm's eye. The master continued, "We're gonna take a short break now to let you think about your first lesson." With that he turned and walked out the door, closing it. He had left the light on.

Harm closed his eyes, still hurting. 'Well, that went badly.' This was all so obscene. How could this be happening? This was only the beginning, and he didn't want to imagine how much worse things could get. He shuddered at the memory of the hands touching him, hurting him and felt ashamed at how badly he handled himself. He realized the guy was fucking with his head, and Harm snorted in disgust at how easily that son of a bitch pushed his buttons. He shook his head with a grim resolve to stay calm and not break ... no matter what. He wondered if he would know when to fight and when to give in to maintain some semblance of control. He had to get through this and not lose hope that he would survive and either escape this nightmare, or be released.

Harm lifted his head to scan his surroundings. The bright beam of light shining in his face was the only illumination in the room and he avoided looking directly into it. The room was fairly large, though barren. Gray concrete walls, gray floor, and in the corners shadows lurked where the light didn't quite reach. He seemed to be centered in the middle of the damp, windowless room. He strained his neck to look over his right shoulder and noticed a table along the side wall with various items and equipment scattered on its surface. On the wall above the table hung a large mirror the length of the table, and he could see a side view reflection of himself, lying face down and staked out between the four poles. 'God, I am so screwed.' Nearby were two chairs and a taller stool. There was also a large, deep utility sink further back in the corner with a shelf and a storage cabinet on the wall above it. Two pails, a box of cleaning supplies, and a rolled up hose were stashed underneath the sink and a mop leaned against the wall. He looked back down between his legs. The only door to the room was on the far wall behind him. He could see anyone entering, though upside down. The view they would have of him upon opening that door was not lost on him and another flush of embarrassment and anger came over him. 'This is so fucked up.' Looking over his left shoulder, he saw there was a cot with one end pushed up against the left wall. The frame appeared to be made of iron and the mattress on it was bare except for a plain white plastic cover. Harm's eyes widened. Black metal manacles and chains hung from several hooks attached to the wall behind the headboard. He was trapped in this sick pervert's torture chamber. Harm started shaking, his hands and feet were starting to go numb, and he tried to squash the feeling of nausea in his stomach by taking deep breaths. He was also very thirsty, but all he could do was wait for what came next, becoming more afraid with each passing minute.

The minutes turned into what felt like hours. The door clicked open again and Harm watched two sets of jean-clad legs enter the room behind him. The guy in the khaki slacks was apparently not with them. Harm turned his head to get a better look. One guy stopped at the sink, the other one walked up to Harm from the right and stood in front of him. Harm was stunned to recognize them as his abductors.

"You two were at the bar!" Harm blurted out, staring up at the face of the sandy haired man. In a split second the man backhanded Harm across the face, hard.

"Do not say another word or I'll tape your mouth shut," he warned. Harm worked his jaw back and forth from the force of the blow, but he wisely remained silent, glaring into the man's eyes. The other man had finished filling a bucket of water at the sink and brought it and a mop over as the first walked away. Harm watched him swiftly clean up the puddle on the floor from earlier, and noticed this man's dark shoulder length hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. Without a word, he went back to the sink, dumped out the water and put away the mop. He carried the pail back over to Harm and set it loudly on the floor underneath Harm's body. He stepped back and spoke for the first time.

"You'll learn the rest of the rules shortly," he laughed as he slapped Harm on the ass. They started to walk towards the door together, discussing Harm as if he wasn't even there. "Do you think we'll get a shot at him before Chief totally breaks him?" the dark man asked his colleague.

"We'll find out soon enough," answered the lighter haired man. "You know what they say: 'payback's a bitch.'" They both snickered.

"Hey, let's make a bet on how long this guy lasts." The door shut behind them and Harm could hear no more of their conversation. Fortunately, he had paid close attention and he had gained a bit of knowledge. They called his captor 'Chief' and he wondered if that was a significant detail. They talked about breaking and paybacks and that couldn't be good. Harm wouldn't have time to ponder that further, since the door clicked open again.

"Break's over," announced the master. He picked up something from the table as he walked by and stopped in front of Harm. Harm kept his eyes focused on the black boots, quivering slightly. He realized that if he were to look straight ahead, his face was inches away from the man's crotch. He also noticed the leather straps dangling from the man's fist. "You must be thirsty and hungry by now, boy. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, sir, I would," Harm mumbled.

"Not quite. It's not sir, it's master and rule number three is always say please and thank you. Try again."

"Yes, please ... master."

"That's better. We'll see how you do with the rest of my lesson, then maybe we can get you some water." He leaned over, put a hand under Harm's chin and tipped his face up so that they stared eye to eye.

This was Harm's first good look at the man's face. Harm was surprised to find an older looking man with short white hair, a ruddy complexion, cruel thin mouth and cold, evil, gray eyes. Harm's guess was the man had at least ten years on him.

The hand let go of Harm's chin, and then made that obscenely intimate gesture of stroking Harm's face. That Harm cringed at the touch did not escape his attention. He smiled, confident that would change. He held out the straps for Harm to see. "It is important you pay close attention to what I expect of you and this is to ensure that you do." He started walking around Harm, tickling his skin with the flat pieces of leather. "It would be a shame to scar this beautiful body, you're such a pretty boy. If used correctly, this won't draw blood or even break the skin. However, it still hurts like hell." With that, he wound up and snapped the straps across Harm's right shoulder, leaving light pink stripes on his skin.

Harm gasped and jerked against the shackles, then exhaled heavily. His wrists and ankles were really getting sore, and his mouth was so dry. The next several blows landed in quick succession across the middle of Harm's back. He winced with each one, and he nearly bit through his lip, his skin feeling like it was on fire. The man moved around to Harm's backside again.

"Rule number four: You will not make any kind of mess on my floor. That's what the bucket is for. The bucket won't always be there. I am your master and I am in complete control of your every word, what you eat or drink, when you sleep, when you piss, and how much you'll be punished." Swack! The straps came down on Harm's ass. "Do you understand, pretty boy?" Another hard smack landed on his other ass cheek.

"Yes ... master!" Harm was sweating now and panting.

"You will not be getting down from your position anytime soon, so don't think you can hold it and wait it out until the next time the pail is in place. I suggest you take your opportunities when they are given to you." Another smack. "Got that?"

"Yes, master," Harm managed to respond. Several seconds passed.

"Well?"

"Huh? You mean right now? But ... I can't." Harm was mortified at the idea.

"And why not?"

"Uh ... I don't need to go now ... master." He remembered to add the title just in time.

"This is your last chance for a long time. I'll just have to change your mind," said the master. He repeatedly beat Harm's buttocks, taking his time, alternating sides, working every inch of Harm's flesh, until pink marks criss-crossed the entire surface. Harm did his best to not cry out, to just take it, no more than a soft moan escaping from his throat with each stroke. He had no idea how much time had passed, it seemed the lashing would never end. The master aimed lower and was striking Harm's thighs as well, each blow harder than the last, leaving angry welts. He wanted Harm to scream in surrender. Then, with a well-placed snap of his wrist, the leather made contact with Harm's anus and the ultra sensitive skin behind his scrotum. Harm did scream.

"OHHH.........GOD!" he wailed, hyperventilating, his body twitching from the agony.

"I'm flattered, but calling for god won't help you. When you beg, you beg from me, your master."

"Please, master ... no more." Harm was sobbing. "Please stop, master."

"You know how to make this stop, pretty boy." He brought the switch down again. This time it caught Harm's balls and the underside of his cock. The shock stunned him so much, that he just let go. He knew he couldn't take another strike like that. Harm watched himself urinate into the pail, tears flowing as well, as he tried to bear the throbbing pain.

"Now there's a good boy. The master went over and retrieved the other pail from under the sink and set it under Harm's head. "This one is for in case you have to puke. Do you think you might need it?" he asked gently. Harm nodded mutely. "I didn't hear you, boy."

"I don't know, master ... maybe?" Harm squeaked out.

"I'll leave it here, just in case. Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Actually ... this really sucks ... master," Harm looked up at him.

"Excuse me?" he scowled.

"Well, you did phrase it in the form of a question ... so I answered," Harm cowered and dropped his head down, expecting the worst.

"So I did," he laughed heartily. "Typical lawyer. You amuse and surprise me. I didn't expect you to be so honest. I'm gonna go find something to put some water in for you. I promise I'll be right back." He left the room.

It was Harm's turned to be stunned. What did he mean by that lawyer comment? Harm couldn't dare to ask and risk the man's wrath. He was so thirsty and this torture business was utterly exhausting. The man came back carrying something in his hand. He picked up the stool and set it right under Harm's head, moving the pail out of the way first. Then he went back to the sink, let the water run, and came back to set a shallow bowl on the stool.

"Take it slow, a little at a time," he warned. Harm could just reach into the bowl with his mouth. Using his lips, he managed to suck up a few mouthfuls. He was desperate for more and ignored the hand caressing his face, as he concentrated on the bowl and lapped up the remaining water with his tongue until there was no more. "All done?"

Harm nodded, "Thank you ... master." It wasn't nearly enough, but that's all there was.

"Very good, pretty boy. See, I can be merciful. You've completed your first day here, but you have so much more to learn. If you do well, maybe I'll let you ask me a question or even reward you with food. We'll talk more in the morning. I suggest you try to rest up tonight." After running his hand through Harm's hair, he took away the bowl but left the stool and started toward the door. "Tomorrow will be a very busy day, Commander Rabb. After we get you cleaned up, you're gonna learn to suck cock. Good night." Light switched off, door shut, and Harm was left alone in the pitch-black darkness.

"Shit!" Harm dropped his head, letting his forehead hit the hard seat of the stool, but he remained there. Thoughts swirled through his mind as he absorbed the words he heard. 'He knows who I am. So much for the random act theory,' he mused. Harm also realized, from the way the man emphasized his name, he wanted Harm to know that he knew. It was not a slip-up. He also let Harm know what to expect tomorrow and Harm could not wrap his mind around the thought. There was no way he would do that, yet he knew somehow that the sick bastard would surely find a way to force him to do just that. He figured it must be Saturday, and he knew he would have a long night ahead of him. God, had this been only one day? He was still thirsty and beyond hungry, having had a late lunch Friday, so it had been well over twenty-four hours since he had eaten any solid food. He was so tired, but so many places on his body hurt - throbbing, aching pain - and he shivered with dread, waiting for the new day, enveloped in the lonely darkness, as the hours ticked by.

***

Harm awoke with a start, remembering where he was, wishing it had been only a nightmare. He had been dozing off and on for what felt like many hours, a fitful sleep laced with strange dreams. He groaned, trying to shake off the last foggy dream, something about Mac had appeared in his sub-conscience. Not only did he need to relieve himself, his cock was heavy with another need. 'Ohgod, no!' Harm had a morning hard-on and he couldn't believe it. This could not be happening. Before he had a chance to try and will his erection away, the door clicked open, the light flipped on and the footsteps came in. 'Damn. Not now,' he thought frantically, squinting until his vision adjusted to the brightness. It was the dark haired henchman who picked up the pail from under the sink and set it loudly under Harm. He also moved the stool away from Harm's head.

"You got one minute and then this pail is gone. You know what that means," he stated.

"No ... wait ... I can't," Harm groaned. Although he was starting to lose his erection, his cock was still semi-hard.

"I see you have a bit of a problem," he chuckled. "I can help you with that, you know." Without further warning, he grabbed a hold of Harm's shaft and began pumping it firmly.

"NOOO! .... Stop!" Harm shouted, trying to buck and pull away, to no avail. He watched the experienced hand stroking him with just the right touch and pressure and he moaned with frustration. The pumping sped up, milking him from the sensitive head to the base and back up again. Harm closed his eyes and begged, "Please ... no ... don't do this ... leave me alone ... please ... oh-god." Although he didn't want any of this, his body betrayed him. He couldn't help himself, clenching with a physical need for the friction to release him from his torment, yet fighting against the urge to let go. The inevitability of impending orgasm made Harm cry out in a combination of rage and frustration, a guttural, animal sound between a moan and a roar. A few more expertly placed strokes and Harm came suddenly, gasping for air, the hand milking his pulsing cock, ensuring his seed spilled into the bucket beneath him. Finally, when the spasms subsided, the hand let go. Harm had just been jerked off by a man, and he had never felt so degraded as he did at that moment.

"Was it good for you?" The man laughed at Harm.

"You ... sick ... fucking ... son of a bitch!" Harm spit the words out between frantic breaths.

"Sorry, your time is up," and he whisked the pail away. "Better luck next time, pretty boy."

"Asshole!" retorted Harm. He had momentarily forgotten his other need as he recovered. It would have been much less humiliating if he could have just simply pissed in the bucket when he had the chance. It wasn't as though he had never relieved himself in front of a total stranger before. Everyone in the Navy was subject to their random drug testing, and Harm had been ordered to produce a urine sample under the tester's watchful eyes on more than one occasion. However, the lack of privacy issue then was nothing compared to the extreme circumstances he was trapped in now. He felt overcome by frustration and anger. The day had barely started and already he was having trouble keeping it together.

Harm heard noises behind him. The master had entered the room, and Harm watched from between his legs at the upside down scene. Harm shivered.

"How did it go?" The master addressed the younger man, who held up the pail and showed him the contents. The master seems genuinely surprised and the sound of twisted, perverse laughter shook Harm to the core. Approaching Harm, he spoke again, "Well, well, you didn't exactly do what you were supposed to." Harm's only response was a long, quivering sigh. It wasn't a question and he couldn't beg for another chance with the pail without permission. "You may speak up."

"I ... it ... there wasn't enough time ... I need another chance..." Harm would not lift his head to meet his captor's gaze, but he really did need to go.

"So ask me properly, boy," said the master, rubbing his hand through Harm's hair.

"Please, master, may I relieve myself? Please?"

"Very well, since you asked so nicely," he answered. He set the pail in its place. "Be quick about it. You're lucky I'm feeling generous." Harm didn't have any control over his aim, and he kept very still, praying that the angle was right and he wouldn't miss. It was so difficult to relax, knowing he was being watched. He focused on that damn bucket and finally his stream started. When he finished, he sighed with relief. "Good boy," said the master, stroking and patting Harm's ass. It made Harm feel equal to a peeing puppy. "My associates are going to prepare you for our session later. Same rules apply. If you behave yourself, I'll bring you some water and if you're *really* good, maybe some broth. You'll need to keep up your strength for your next lesson." Harm thought what a joke that was, he felt weak and dizzy, as apparently they were also trying to starve him to death.

As the master was leaving, he passed his two assistants on their way in. "Get him ready. Do it quickly," he instructed. "And remember, not a mark on his face." Harm peered over his shoulder to see what they were doing. It was tiring to hold his head up for very long but he wondered what was to happen next. They both seemed to be performing separate tasks with their backs to him, one at the table and the other at the sink.

"Let's rock," said the man with the ponytail. He pressed a couple buttons on the compact stereo system at the back of the table against the wall and cranked up the volume knob. The loud music thundering through the room was a complete contrast to the almost constant stillness before. Harm was startled by the intensity of the noise, the booming bass, pounding drum beats, screaming guitars and voices, maybe some kind of heavy metal or rock band. He did not hear the footsteps now and suddenly the two young men were on either side of him, putting on latex gloves.

"What are you doing?" yelled Harm, anxiously. He struggled and pulled against his bonds. The only movement that accomplished was the slight back and forth and side to side rocking of the suspended harness. His arms and legs were stretched too tight to do anything more.

"We'll be finished a lot faster if you just stay still, you worthless idiot," said the light haired man. Harm surrendered this round and hung his head. The two guys started slathering a foul, chemical smelling lotion on him, each working on half of Harm's body. Harm watched warily as the lotion was spread over his entire body, from his shoulders all the way down to his fingers and toes. Not an inch was to be left uncovered. 'Just another weird thing to fuck with my mind,' he guessed. It was taking several minutes and Harm tried to lose himself in the pounding music as a distraction. He noticed the first track had ended, but then the same one repeated. His skin itched and he gritted his teeth when fingers slid down the cleft of his ass and across his balls. The two guys were talking and Harm strained to hear over the relentless music.

"I hate this smelly stuff."

"Well, it's easier than shaving him."

"True. The boss wants him smooth as a baby's butt. We still gotta shave his face though. Want me to do it?"

"Nah, let's just put this shit on him. If it's safe for a woman to use, it's gotta be good enough for a guy's face."

"We're not gonna be able to do his belly though, the sling is in the way."

"Just get as much of his chest as you can and make sure his privates are completely done. I'll get his beard off." The guy with the short sandy hair moved the bar stool and pulled Harm's head up. Harm was about to protest, but thought better of it. What was the point anyway? "Put your chin here," he pointed to the edge of the stool. Harm complied. The lotion was smoothed onto his stubble just like shaving cream. "Just wait a few more minutes, and we'll get this rinsed off you." They left his line of vision and all he heard was the same damn song repeating over and over.

*Trying to find a way to fight the pain  
But it seems, there's no way around it  
Reaching for the sun and finding rain  
I melt, I'll always be grounded  
So much I have brought upon myself  
I can't believe that I'm still here  
Looking for a place you know so well  
You see, it never resisted  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
break...you  
break  
All this time, I really thought you knew  
The game was not meant for winning  
Explanation for the things I do  
No, but I'm constantly grinning  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you...*

He drifted a bit and a few minutes later, the stool was pulled out from under his chin and a pail put in its place. The other pail was set between his legs. A hose had been unwound and attached to the faucet. Without warning, a blast of cold water hit Harm on the back and his muscles jerked from the shock. He bit his lip as he was methodically hosed off like a horse. The spray hit him in the face and he coughed and sputtered. By the time they were satisfied that he was completely cleaned off, his teeth were chattering. The floor was soaked, water, lotion, and all his body hair swirling towards the drain. Everything Harm was subjected to seemed to be for maximum degradation effect and he still didn't understand why, or how much more he could take before he lost his mind. 'Please let this be over soon,' he hoped. He felt someone shaking him and he looked up.

"Almost done, pretty boy. This next part is gonna be real uncomfortable for ya. If ya gotta puke, do it in the bucket."

"No ... no, no!" Harm immediately went into panic mode, heart pounding, and adrenalin pumping. He felt his ass cheeks being pulled apart, and a sharp pain as something pushed into his anal opening, and then the cold water flushed through his bowels. "Owwwww ... ohgod!" Harm screamed. His gut cramped, he broke out in a sweat, and the bile was churning in his stomach. He let out a chilling howl, and then allowed the thumping music to sweep him away outside of himself, drifting in a nightmare that never seemed to end.

*...Could you ever recognize this pain  
You see, it's so far from over  
After this you'll never be the same  
You know I'm choking on knowledge  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you  
I will break you*

Finally it was over. The music stopped. Harm was thoroughly cleansed. He hung limply, dripping wet, and in the quiet, he could be heard whimpering, his breath ragged and shallow. His belly was still cramping and he had heaved several times, though nothing but bile came up. The floor was hosed down, and the master arrived a short while later.

"How did it go?" he asked his assistants.

"All done, clean inside and out, no problems."

"Yeah, he did good, didn't even pass out and hardly puked."

"That's my boy," said the master. "Go take a break," he dismissed them. He then inspected Harm from head to toe, running his fingers lightly over Harm's smooth, hairless skin, examining the marks and welts from the day before, checking for cuts, or any other damage. Harm was cold and shaking. The master had carried several large towels in with him and he took one now and began drying Harm's body with it, gently rubbing and patting him all over, lulling Harm into relaxing his muscles slightly.

"Thank you, master," Harm whispered.

"For what?"

"That feels ... um ... better," Harm's voice quivered.

"So, how are you doing?"

"Cold ... tired ... hurts," Harm looked at him through sad, shining eyes.

"That will pass. We have all the time in the world," he smiled. Harm was well on his way to becoming dependent on him. He finished massaging every inch of Harm's skin, even rubbing his head to soak up the excess water from his hair, then tossed the damp towel, and got two more dry towels. He'd have to remember that mixing comfort with the pain seemed to work well towards truly owning this man. "This should warm you up a little." He wrapped one around Harm's neck and shoulders, covering his back and upper arms as well. He placed the second one over his ass and that draped down over his thighs. Harm felt grateful to be covered.

"Thanks, sir ... uh ... master ... I meant ... I mean master," Harm's eyes widened in alarm as he caught his mistake. "I'm sorry, master ... please, I'll do better."

"Old habits die hard, I know. I can tell you're really trying. But I've got a job to do," he said gently. Harm looked confused. "Tell me what's on your mind, pretty boy."

Harm's voice was breaking, this was his chance and his words tumbled out in a torrent of emotion. "I don't understand ... why are you doing this? ... Why me? How long are you going to hold me prisoner? Are you going to kill me?" Tears sprang from Harm's eyes, and he couldn't wipe them away. "I'm sorry ... I don't know if ... if ... can't do this ... I don't understand what you want from me ... just don't hurt me ... can't take anymore," he cried. The older man reached out and cupped Harm's face with both hands.

"Stop it. You will take this, and much more, once you understand what is expected of you. I know it's natural to try to fight me, to resist surrendering your mind and body to me. It's my mission to punish you. I can make you suffer terrible pain, but it is *not* in my plan to kill you. What fun would that be? Your being dead would not serve my purpose at all. You might earn your release from here eventually, but who knows how much time it will take? You don't have any choice but to accept your fate. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be. Remember, the key to your survival is complete and total obedience, and you must take your punishment. Your miserable, sorry excuse for a life is *mine*. You got that, boy?"

"Yes, master," Harm sniffled and his red, watery eyes glared defiantly.

"Harmon Rabb, you are a delightful, exceptional man. It's almost a shame to break you." With that, he let go of Harm and headed for the door, realizing he needed to change his strategy. "I'll be right back. We will continue this discussion and all will be revealed."

Harm did not know what to make of this development. He hated himself for feeling so weak, yet he was hopeful that he would learn some useful information. The man was apparently a twisted, perverted sociopath with a cruel, sadistic streak, and he was very dangerous. Harm felt so helpless, completely at the mercy of this man's bizarre game.

When the door opened again, Harm could smell something and his mouth watered. The master set a bowl and spoon on the table and then brought a chair over, placing it in front of Harm. "Is it safe to remove this pail?" Harm hadn't retched in a little while, but he still felt queasy. He hesitated.

"I ... don't know, master ... maybe not ... not too far away ... please."

"That's fine. I brought you some soup," said the master. He took the bowl in one hand and sat in the chair. When Harm lifted his head, they were pretty much eye to eye. He held the spoon up to Harm. "This is your reward for behaving well earlier. You did better than I had hoped." Harm realized that the master meant to spoon-feed him. "I'll talk, you listen and eat," he ordered, dipping the spoon into the bowl and holding it up to Harm's lips. Harm had no choice but to trust him, so he opened his mouth. It wasn't hot, but rather lukewarm, plain beef broth, but it was better than nothing. At this point, he was grateful for anything. Harm wished he could gulp the liquid down, but he had to wait for each spoonful that was brought to his lips, as the man began his words of explanation.

"We've been watching you for some time," he began. "You were so easy to snatch, you know. For a lawyer, you just ain't that bright. You think you're such a hotshot, all righteous, defending or prosecuting, sending people off to prison. Do you have any idea how many lives you've ruined? Do you even remember all your cases, or care about what happens to them after you're done dispensing your so-called justice? You see, it's all about revenge, pretty boy, and it will be sweet." At this point he stopped spooning up the broth and his steely, cold, gray eyes bore through Harm's. "Of course, I'm concerned with only one particular life that you wrecked, and to even the score, every aspect of your sorry life - physical, mental, your precious career - will be destroyed. You will have nothing left to go back to. You are a worthless shit, good for nothing except to serve me. You don't even deserve to be called by name, boy. I own your ass and I'll be in your nightmares for the rest of your pathetic life. I will break you, it's only a matter of time." He leaned forward, inches from Harm's face, and lowered his voice. "I was trained by the best." With that, he stood up. Harm shuddered at the tone of the man's voice and the words that were said.

"Well, enough of this male bonding shit," he smirked as he went to the sink, rinsed out the bowl and came back with water. He held the bowl up to Harm's mouth. "Drink. Your adjustment period is over. I was feeling merciful and went easy on you yesterday while you settled in. Now you will obey and submit to me at all times. Any hesitation or refusal, you will be severely beaten or worse. Any breaking of the rules, which you are now aware of, will be punished. You control nothing and you are at my mercy. Is that clear?"

"Yes, master." Harm was filled with overwhelming dread. He paid close attention to all that was said and the intent to intimidate was certainly working on him. He was still gulping at the water when the bowl was snatched away. Then the towels were whisked off his body. They and the thin soup had at least warmed him for a few minutes.

"It's time to begin, pretty boy," Harm's captor snickered. "Welcome to your new existence." Harm wondered if the man was born evil, or did something make him a psycho. Who was this man? He did not recognize him from any past cases. Who had trained him? Was he working for someone else? This apparently was personal. He wondered which client of his countless cases over the years had led to all this and realized he might never find out.

Harm was suddenly pulled back from his thoughts to harsh reality with the realization that his captor had come up behind him and grabbed a hold of his member. Harm let out a gasp of surprise and looked down to see what was happening. 'Oh god, not again,' he thought, fearing that the man was trying to jerk him off like the assistant had done earlier. He could feel something tight being secured around the base of his penis and saw an attached wire leading to equipment on the table a few feet away. Panic started rising, his heart pounding, his muscles spasming, and he tried to catch his breath.

"Now we are ready for today's lesson," announced the master. He was back at the table, pressing the appropriate buttons on the CD player to start it with the repeat track programmed. Hard rock music cranked up again, this time not quite as deafening, so Harm would be able to hear his commands over the song. Harm watched his boots as he came around to stand in front of him and he lifted Harm's face by the chin. "You didn't forget, did you?" Holding Harm's face firmly with one hand cupped under his chin, he unzipped his fly with his free hand and grinned as Harm's eyes opened wide with horror.

"Nooooo ... no, no, no way!" Harm thrashed against his bonds, metal clanking and rattling. "I'll never do that," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll die first. You'll have to kill me." Harm became all too aware of the very real possibility of being raped. He just didn't know when it would happen. In this vulnerable state, he'd be helpless to prevent it, but he was certainly *not* going to actively participate in getting this creep off.

"Oh, I don't think so," the master admonished Harm, as he gripped Harm's jaw firmly, his thumb and forefinger digging harder into Harm's cheeks. Harm did not hear the presence of the other two men entering the room. "And don't get any ideas about using your teeth or making this any more difficult than it needs to be. Remember, you're wired for sound." All three of them chuckled. "Now, do something useful and open your mouth." He reached into his pants and pulled out his thick member, which was already getting hard. Holding it at the base of the shaft, he slapped his cock against Harm's cheeks and lips. Harm glared at him with hatred and would not comply. The master nodded towards the table at one of his assistants. "Let's give our boy a little taste, shall we?" A lever was flipped briefly on the box connected by wire to Harm's penis. A shock of pain emanated from Harm's genitals, stunning him in its intensity. He trembled visibly, gasping for air through gritted teeth, not knowing if he could handle another jolt like that.

"That was the lowest level, pretty boy," said the master. "It would be so much easier on you if you just give in to me."

Harm's resolve to fight started to slip. He tried to think clearly, but he was dazed. He tried to reason with himself that it wouldn't really be giving in if he did what he had to do to survive. He didn't know how much more he could bear, but one look at that cock in his face, the thought of it being in his mouth, and he couldn't help turning his head and trying to pull away.

"Up a notch," the master nodded. The young light haired man turned a dial and flipped the lever a few seconds longer. Harm's muscles went rigid with a sizzling pain that shot through his penis and seemed to course through his entire body and he lost all control or thought. The high-pitched wail from his throat pierced through the pounding music as he was stunned senseless. He pissed himself, wetting the floor, and his jaw went slack as he moaned. The master held Harm up by a fistful of hair, shoving his hard cock into Harm's open mouth.

"Okay, let's rock," and the music's volume cranked up. Harm choked and gagged trying to get the intrusion out of his mouth. "Relax, pretty boy, the sooner you get it right the sooner it will be over. Harm felt panic rising up in him and he fought it back. He tried to breathe through his nose, but couldn't get enough air. The cock was pumping into his mouth with the same tempo as the driving, pulsing music. "Come on, use your lips and suck me," the master commanded. "I'm sure you've watched how bitches do you."

For the first time since his capture, Harm wished for death. He wanted to die, could not possibly survive this degradation without end. The only way to endure was to surrender, and he drifted again, away from what was being done to him. He closed his eyes and went completely limp, hearing only the harsh music playing over and over.

*...I'm alive for you. I'm awake because of you.  
I'm alive I told you. I'm awake, swallowing you...

...I'm awake, swallowing you...*

The thumping beat continued, as did the thrusting of the cock invading Harm's mouth. The master could not get enough friction to build to his release, as Harm remained passive to the intrusion, so he had to wrap his fist around his shaft to bring himself off. "You're a useless fuck," he swore and then grunted his release into Harm's mouth, filling it with his bitter, salty semen. Harm jerked back to full awareness, as he tasted the vile fluid.

"Gaahh!" he gagged, spitting and coughing. A bitter thought briefly flashed through Harm's mind. How could women stand the taste? He couldn't imagine ever again asking a lover to perform this act on him without the image of this moment burned into his brain. The master put his spent cock back in his pants and zipped up.

"You will practice on my two associates until you get it right, sweet boy," he told Harm. Then he gestured to the two men and gave them his instructions. "Play with him as long as you like, but don't take his ass. I will be his first." Harm's stomach rolled at those words and he was still spitting and drooling onto the floor in an attempt to rid his mouth of the horrible taste. "Oh, and clean up my floor after you punish him for making a mess and for being such a lousy cock-sucker. I'll check back later." With that he stormed out.

Harm felt sick. This session wasn't going to end anytime soon and he felt as though his sanity was hanging by a thread. There was no choice but to surrender to whatever was demanded of him. If he was compliant enough, he reasoned, maybe he could avoid the worst of the torture; make them go just a little easier on him. But if he broke completely, how could he live with himself? 'No choice, no choice, no choice.' His will to survive was not yet lost. He fought down the panic and the bile, but tears dropped from his eyes to the floor below as he hung and waited.

"Let's rock," was the signal once again. Another hard, angry song blared loudly through the room. The two men came up to him. The fair-haired one beside Harm began whipping his back and buttocks with a leather strap, and Harm winced with each sharp sting to his flesh. The beating was non-stop and continued down to the backs of his thighs. Soon Harm was covered with burning, raised welts and sweat, and he was moaning in pain. The pony-tailed man stood in front of Harm and lifted his head.

"Get me off with that mouth of yours and my friend here will stop whipping your ass," he told Harm, as he pulled out his hard cock. "If I'm not satisfied that you're doing your best, we'll send a couple more jolts through your poor, pitiful dick." As there was no reason not to believe that warning, Harm closed his eyes, opened his mouth and took in the offensive hardness. He closed his lips around the throbbing cock and sucked at it as though his very life depended on it. The man held onto Harm's head and thrust along with the relentless rhythm of the music, as Harm concentrated simply on breathing through his nose until the act was completed.

*...Feed on nothing  
You'll never live up to me

Awaken you  
With a little evil inside  
Feed on your nothing  
You'll never live up to me  
I've stricken you  
Feed on your nothing  
And you'll never live up to me...*

Harm kept catching fragments of words of the song as he tuned out everything else. Finally, the tempo of the thrusting increased and he knew the release would come very soon. With a roar, the man held Harm's face firmly against him until his pulsing cock emptied its seed into Harm's mouth.

"You better swallow it all," he warned, smirking at Harm. "You wouldn't want to spill another drop on the master's floor. He wouldn't like that." Harm couldn't breathe. He was choking and he gulped reflexively. Finally, the deflating member withdrew from his mouth and he gasped for much needed air. Harm looked around frantically, his gut clenching. The pail was out of reach, moved earlier, and Harm was helpless to stop his body's reaction. 'Ohgod, no.' He vomited all over the floor.

"Jesus, you son of a bitch!" yelled the fair-haired man, striking the strap against Harm's ass with furious strength. Harm hung his head and said nothing. He was reduced to whimpering now. The man came around to Harm's face, yanked him up by the hair and forced his mouth open. "My turn now," he hissed, and his penis filled Harm's mouth. Harm weakly fought his gag reflex at the intruding cock. "Relax, you gotta get the hang of this," he was instructed. "Come on, boy, use your tongue now, not just your lips. Just think how proud you'll make your master if you do it right. He'll be so good to you if you just try to please him." His voice droned on hypnotically, as he continued to pump harder, but less deeply, so Harm could stop choking. "That's it, boy, stroke my shaft with your tongue ... now suck harder ... yeah." A few more thrusts and his semen spilled into Harm's throat. Harm's body threatened to heave again, but he managed to choke it back. The whimpering sounds were quickly turning into sobs. He was vaguely aware of them moving about, turning off the CD player, taking only a few minutes to hose down the floor, then announcing "We're done here," and leaving together.

Harm was left alone in the stillness for a short while. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and he hurt all over. There was nothing on him that didn't hurt. He couldn't rid his mouth of the foul taste, his eyes were itchy and swollen from crying, he was losing control and he knew he wasn't far from the edge of insanity. His thoughts went bitterly to when agent Clayton Webb was tortured in Paraguay. Webb very nearly died from his injuries and he never talked. He didn't break. Harm would have laughed, if it weren't so pathetic. He had been in hell for only two days, less than 48 hours, and he was ready to break. He convinced himself what a coward he was, not fit to wear a Commander's uniform. Maybe acceptance of his fate was the only true way to survive. 'Complete surrender,' he thought miserably. 'Someone, please help me.'

There was no reaction when the door opened again. The master wondered if Commander Rabb had passed out. He walked over and lifted him by the chin, staring into his captive's eyes. They were shining, but unfocused, vacantly gazing past him. It was too quiet in here; the only sound was Harm's ragged breathing. He dropped Harm's head, then went and cued up a different track. Another song from the CD cranked up. Even this distraction was better than the silence, or the darkness in Harm's mind, and Harm found himself listening to fragments of the lyrics.

*...There is nothing I can do  
For you are next to no one...

...You will release your life  
Joining with the goddamned world  
Of the dead and the lonely  
You'll never leave alive  
Now do you think you're too damn good  
For the killing kind

You will release your life  
Forgetting what's forsaken the reason why  
You are alone again  
You will begin to cry  
Hearing the silence breaking  
You breathe, alive  
But you are alone again...

...You will release your life...*

The master began a thorough inspection of Harm's body, running his fingers lightly over all the bruises and pink welts. He would be pissed at his assistants if they damaged or marked Harm's body too much. He noticed how Harm barely trembled at the initial touch to his skin this time, even though he knew how much pain Harm had to be in. He worked at an unhurried, deliberate pace, assessing Harm's condition. After checking the angry marks criss-crossing Harm's back, buttocks and thighs and satisfied they stopped short of open lacerations, he walked around to examine each shackle. Harm's ankles and wrists had a wide band of purple bruising from the strain of the tight bonds on his joints. Along the edges of the metal, the skin was rubbed raw. He went and turned off the CD player, then moved behind Harm and briefly separated his cheeks to see that his ass had not yet been violated. His fingers moved over the puckered opening, then slid down to caress Harm's balls. Harm never moved. The master smiled at the progress and was pleased to be ahead of schedule. He reached between Harm's legs and removed the constricting band and wire that was wrapped around the base of Harm's shaft and set the device over on the table. Harm stirred slightly and a small sigh of relief escaped from his lips. His cock had suffered terrible abuse from the shocks.

"Thank you, master," Harm whispered gratefully, keeping his head down and his eyes closed.

"You're welcome, baby," replied the master. "Your cock must be hurting - I can help it to feel better."

Harm wanted to protest, to fight. Knowing it wouldn't do any good, he remained silent. 'Whatever,' he thought. The master fetched a tube from the cabinet and began to smooth a cool, healing lotion all around the base of Harm's flaccid shaft, slowly and lightly smoothing it onto the sensitive, abraded skin. Harm waited silently. Although the master began stroking the length of the limp member a bit more firmly, there was no automatic response. Harm's only reaction to the discomfort that this touching caused his damaged penis was to breathe deeply. The master seemed a little concerned when he realized an erection was not going to happen. He let go of Harm and moved back around to his head, tipping it up to look intently at his face. Harm's eyes still seemed somewhat vacant. He caressed the side of Harm's face with his palm and Harm actually leaned into his hand. The man smirked, realizing now just how fragile and close to the edge Harm was to need this contact and reassurance from him. Yes, everything was right on track, better than he expected, but he need to make sure before proceeding to the next phase of the brainwashing.

"I am going to ask you a few questions and you must be honest with me," he stated as he continued to hold Harm's face in his hands. "Understand?"

"Yes, master," Harm's voice shook softly.

"How are you doing?"

"I don't ... know ... not so good ... master." Harm's eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to fall.

"I know you're hurting, but it's necessary. Once I'm sure you can be trusted, things will get easier. All right?"

"Okay," Harm sighed.

"Who am I?"

"You are my master."

"Why are you here?"

"Uh … to serve you and please you, master."

"If you could have any reward right now that's in my power to give, like food, water, a blanket, what would you request?"

Harm hesitated for a moment. "Whatever my master chooses to give me would be fine," he replied.

"Good answer. What would you do to earn it, pretty boy?"

"Anything ... anything you want, master," Harm said, locking eyes with his tormentor for just a moment before lowering his gaze.

"Prove it," said the master, unzipping his slacks to find out if Harm would pass or fail this test. His heavy cock was still soft when he took it out, and he had to wrap his fist around the base to hold it up to Harm's lips. He saw that Harm had already opened his mouth in readiness as he stepped forward. "That's my boy," he smiled a feral grin. "Get me hard."

Harm's mind went on autopilot as he resigned himself to his task. The man rubbed his cock across Harm's lips and Harm licked the underside of the stiffening rod, slurping noisily, then wrapped his lips around the shaft, and took the hard member into his mouth. He hoped he applied the right amount of pressure and sucked hard enough to get his master off as quickly and efficiently as possible. The man began thrusting, both his hands gripping Harm's shoulders. "Make me come, boy," he panted. He fucked Harm's mouth to completion, his pulsing cock filling Harm's mouth. Harm swallowed the bitter fluid, choking back his gag reflex, and even licked the cock clean as it withdrew from his mouth. He looked up at his captor, hoping for approval.

"Well done, my boy," he grinned with satisfaction. He fetched the stool and a bowl of water and set them up in front of Harm's face. Harm's lips were swollen, his jaw ached and he wanted so much to get the taste of the man out of his mouth. "Keep yourself busy with this and I'll be back in a few minutes," he instructed and left. Harm stuck his face right into the bowl, sucking the cool water up through his lips and gulping it down. He drank the bowl dry until all that was left were the droplets dripping off his wet face.

Harm was still resting his chin on the edge of the stool when his master returned. The man was carrying a mug.

"You deserve a treat, pretty boy," he stated. "I've brought you some hot cocoa. Well, not very hot, I'm afraid. Wouldn't want you to burn those precious lips." Harm's mouth watered. His eyes seemed to shine a little brighter momentarily, the master observed. He held the mug to Harm's lips, tilting it slowly so Harm could get a few sips.

"Thank you, master," said Harm.

"Some more?"

"Yes, please, master," Harm replied. He was relieved to find the mug of warm, soothing liquid tipped back up to his lips.

"Easy does it, boy, a little at a time," the master said gently. He patted and rubbed Harm's shoulder until he had finished the contents of the mug. Harm looked up at him anxiously, wondering what to expect next.

"I think it's about time to call it a day." The man observed how exhausted Harm looked. He brought the pail over and set it down for Harm to relieve himself. Harm didn't waste any time; there was no point in modesty after two days of being naked and abused. "Good puppy," said the master, as he brushed the back of his hand along the side of Harm's face. It seemed a perversely affectionate gesture. "Such a beautiful, honest face." He cupped his hand under Harm's chin. "I'm pleased with your progress today. You're a quick learner. In fact, I've decided that tomorrow we will move on to the next phase of your training. I trust that you won't disappoint me." Harm glanced at him, looking afraid, not sure if he was supposed to answer, so he remained silent. He had a sinking feeling about what the new day would bring, and he experienced a renewed feeling of dread and hopelessness. The despair showed in his eyes.

"I can tell you are dying to ask me a question, so go ahead, you may ask," said the master.

Harm hesitated. "I ... uh ... you … you're going to ... rape me ... aren't you?"

"Ah, what an interesting question!" his captor laughed gleefully. The man could hardly wait to carry out his twisted plan to ensure Rabb's final breakdown. "I'm going to give you something to think about tonight. I'm going to fuck you, but it won't be rape, my dear boy. By the time we're finished tomorrow, you will be begging me to fuck you. Oh, and another thing, tomorrow is Monday and you'll be officially U.A. from your Command. I'm sure that is not going to go over well with your C.O. In fact, just your disappearance alone might be enough to say bye-bye to your illustrious career, but then again it might not. It depends on what the Admiral does. I'll have to come up with a plan to make sure your fate is sealed." With a short chuckle, his cold, soulless eyes locked onto Harm's equally intense gaze for a moment, before walking around him. He stopped right behind Harm and his fingers stroked him intimately between his butt cheeks, causing Harm to tense up. "Yup, this virgin ass is mine come morning, my pretty boy. Better rest up, heh-heh." He turned on his heel and walked to the door, flicking the light switch off on his way out.

Harm was once again plunged into a silent darkness. He sighed heavily. He was so tired and he had hoped so much to be taken down from the contraption that held him suspended. If he could just curl up on that cot, he thought, but knew it was too much to wish for. He was certain that sleep would elude him for most of the night. His empty gut gnawed at him, he hurt all over, muscles and joints and skin throbbing and burning with pain, and he had an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. All this paled in comparison with what was going on in his mind, however. It was so difficult to focus. Even though he was aware that his master was playing an expert mind game with him, he was also aware that it was working. He couldn't think clearly when his thoughts were jumping around between hatred and fear, reliving the nightmarish events of the day and dreading the agony of what was yet to come. In a matter of hours, he knew he would be raped, the ultimate violation. He knew with certainty that it would happen. What he didn't know was how he would survive what was coming, not just the pain, although he knew that would be awful as well. The waiting was unbearable, the entire situation was unbearable, and Harm felt like he was losing his mind. Tears in his eyes threatened to fall, but he fought it, refusing to give into total hopelessness.

Harm wondered if anyone would ever find him, if anyone would even search for him. He thought about Mac and the Admiral and what they would think when they realized he was missing. He wondered if they would be worried and look for him, or if they would assume he took off on his own and deserted. Would they even care that he was gone? He thought about his mother and how devastated she would be. He wondered whether she would ever know what happened to him if his body never turned up, or is she would find out the cruel tortures inflicted upon him. Neither option was acceptable to him. Harm's thoughts became more and more despondent as he spiraled into the even darker, deeper hell of his own mind. Even if he got out of here, he reasoned, he couldn't foresee how he would be able to just go back to his life after all that had been done to him. He couldn't imagine how he would ever be able to face anyone. There was no point in hoping for his freedom, when he was beginning to think that there was no escape from this existence. It was well into the early morning hours before Harm finally passed out from exhaustion.

***

The Monday morning staff meeting in Admiral Chegwidden's office was drawing to a close, with one seat at the conference table conspicuously empty. The Admiral did not look pleased.

"That will be all, people. Dismissed," he barked. The officers present were only too anxious to get out of the line of fire, and scattered from the room quickly.

"I wouldn't want to be in Commander Rabb's shoes right now, ma'am," Lieutenant Bud Roberts said to Mac out in the bullpen.

"No one in their right mind would," replied Mac, looking over toward Rabb's empty office, with the stacks of files piled all over his desk.

"I tried calling his apartment and his cell phone several times. No luck," said Bud.

As if on cue, the Admiral appeared in his doorway and bellowed, "Has anyone heard from Commander Rabb this morning?"

"No, sir!" Everyone snapped to attention in unison.

"Sir," Bud began to explain, "we have not received any messages, there is no answer on his home phone, and his cell seems to be deactivated. He has not been seen or heard from since Friday, when he was the last person to leave these premises, logging out at 1935."

Sir," Mac added, "judging from the appearance of his desk, it seems he was intending to work on case files all weekend. Also, his briefcase is in his office, which is highly unusual. He normally takes it with him if he is going to be away for any length of time."

"Petty Officer Coates, keep trying the Commander's contact numbers," instructed the Admiral.

"Yes, sir!" replied Coates.

"If any one hears from Rabb, notify me immediately," Chegwidden continued, "and let him know if he doesn't report to my office with a damned good explanation by end of business today, I will write him up. As you were." The Admiral stormed back into his office and slammed the door.

"Ma'am, I can't imagine that Commander Rabb would tick off the Admiral like this on purpose. Maybe I should go by the Commander's apartment during my lunch break," Bud offered.

"I was just thinking of doing the same thing, Lieutenant," Mac said with concern. She wondered what kind of trouble Harm could have gotten himself into this time. He was already on thin ice with the Admiral, and she doubted he would actually be stupid enough to push his luck at this point. "I'll check it out," she told Bud. "I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Colonel," replied Bud. "If you don't find anything, I'll think of some other ideas for us to locate him."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Mac muttered, heading to her office.

"Yes, ma'am."

***

Harm's sleep was restless, filled with nightmares. He was deeply caught up in another one when the door opened quietly. The light came on as the two henchmen entered silently, but Harm did not awaken. They could tell he was dreaming, his breathing was deep, his body twitching and trembling. A low moan escaped Harm's throat as he struggled with the horrors in his subconscious mind. The two men looked at each other and grinned, eager to have some fun with their pathetic prisoner.

"How shall we wake him?" whispered one.

"Let's scare the hell out of him," the other whispered back, pointing to the two pails under the sink. They each picked one up, moved into position on either side of Harm's suspended, sleeping form, and simultaneously slammed the pails onto the floor. The loud clatter was deafening, and in Harm's nightmare, he was reliving the explosion of his ramp strike. Harm cried out with a huge gasp, as his eyes flew open. He was completely disoriented, trapped between his nightmare hell and the hell of his reality. Hyperventilating, adrenalin pumping, he fought his way from confusion to awareness and realized where he was. He sagged visibly in despair at the knowledge. Then he heard laughter and knew he wasn't alone. He looked around to locate and identify the source.

"Oh, sorry, did we wake you?" teased the pony-tailed man. More laughter. "Rise and shine, boy." He slapped at Harm with open hands, striking his thighs and buttocks. "Need some help this morning? I can hold it for you," he sneered, kicking at the pail. Harm looked down and saw what he meant, the man's hand snaking around him to roughly grab hold of his defenseless penis. Harm winced in fear. 'Please god, no.' The hand did not move.

"Oh, come on. I'm just helping you aim," he whined, feigning innocence. Harm blushed deeply. No matter how often he was humiliated, it didn't get any easier. Seconds passed, as Harm held his breath.

"Quit fooling around," the sandy haired one scolded. "We gotta hurry up and get done before the boss gets here."

The hand released its grip on Harm and Harm let out a long sigh. He watched their preparations and realized they were about to administer another cruel and painful enema, just like yesterday. He wondered bitterly what the point was, it wasn't as though they had given him any solid food since his capture. Then the point of it became apparent to him. It was simply to make him suffer. While they were still working at the sink, Harm quickly took the opportunity to relieve himself, then waited for the inevitable.

A short while later, it was over, and Harm was left alone again to recover. His retching and cramping had subsided and the floor was mopped clean. He noticed they had not even bothered to give him water. He was thirsty and his mouth felt dry as dust. He also felt a dizzying weakness. Harm heard the door open and his stomach knotted up with dread. 'Don't panic, don't panic. Please let me somehow get through this,' he told himself, trying to settle his breathing and his pounding heart.

Harm's captor came up in front of him with what appeared to be pages of paper in his hand.

"Well, good morning, my sweet boy," he said, as he caressed the back of Harm's neck. "I do hope you are ready for me."

"Just get this over with already," Harm blurted out, not realizing he had spoken out loud, what he had been thinking.

"What did you say?" The fury in his captor's deep voice was evident, as Harm lifted his head to meet the master's glare with his own terrified eyes. The man hauled off and cuffed Harm across the side of his head so hard it dazed him, his ears ringing. "Don't make me lose my temper," he warned. "In fact, your lack of respect is pissing me off. I think we need a little refresher lesson before we move on."

"No, master, please ... I'm sorry," Harm pleaded. He was sure he would be whipped or beaten for this.

"You must learn not to shoot off that disrespectful mouth of yours."

"I didn't mean it ... It won't happen again, master ... I'll do better ..." Harm continued to beg for mercy.

"But you are a very bad boy," he insisted, picking up the wired cock ring from the table.

"Yes, master ... I was bad ... I wasn't thinking ... I promise, I'll be good, master." Harm watched as the band was attached to the base of his penis and panic welled up in him. "Please ... noooo ... not this," Harm whimpered. "I'll do anything, master ... just don't do this ... please ... I'll be a good boy," he sobbed, shoulders shaking.

"Quiet! No more begging," the man growled with a sadistic, cruel smile. Turning the machine on, he delivered a quick shock to Harm's groin, the painful stun causing him to yelp and thrash against the bonds that held him fast. As the pain subsided, Harm attempted to catch his breath, moaning softly. "Well, I don't hear a bunch of babbling words now," the master retorted. "One more to make sure you remember your place from now on." This shock lasted several seconds, as blinding pain shot through Harm's penis and coursed through his body, seizing up all his muscles and nerves. What started as a low moan escalated to a prolonged, animalistic howl that filled the room. The unearthly sound emanating from Harm's throat was like that of a dying wolf. When it finally stopped, Harm hung limply in a daze. His body was still shaking convulsively and his breathing was erratic and shallow. His extremities felt numb. He dry heaved several times, drooling into the bucket below.

The master gave Harm a few minutes to come back to his senses. He removed the ring from Harm's penis, then fetched a cup of water, putting a straw in it. He watched Harm shudder every few moments and waited until the whimpering stopped. Holding the cup in one hand, he stood near Harm's right shoulder, rubbing his back. He alternated between stroking up and down between the shoulder blades and rubbing circles softly across Harms' entire back and shoulders. His goal was to calm Harm, to comfort him, for Harm to completely surrender his will to him. With just a little more convincing and punishment, he was confident he could accomplish his mission today.

"Come on, I really don't want to hurt you like that anymore, baby," he spoke in a soft, low voice. "You make me hurt you, you know. It doesn't have to be this way. You need to forget all about the life you knew before and learn to trust me. I'll take care of you and treat you so much better if you'll just accept the way things are. It really will be much easier on you if you give me what I want willingly." At this point he was leaning in close to Harm's ear, still petting him like he was a beloved pet. Harm lifted his head and the master looked into his red, teary eyes. His face was questioning, confused, his lip quivering, but he dared not speak.

"You have a question? Ask it," commanded Harm's master.

"Please, master ... how can I give you what you want if I don't understand what that is?" Harm asked, his breath hitching.

"It's really quite simple, my precious beautiful boy," he smiled. "I want your complete, total devotion."

"Oh." Harm pondered the man's words for several moments. It slowly dawned on him that this sick bastard was not only dangerous and insane, he was also obsessed with him. Not knowing what to do with this new information, he nevertheless felt a tiny glimmer of hope that this could be useful in the future. Harm would hold on to that hope for at least a short while.

"Well?" his master was waiting.

"Uh ... yes, master. I understand. I promise to try my best to ... to be a good boy ... please, master ... that's all I can promise." Harm tried to sound sincere. He lowered his eyes and hung his head, sniffling loudly.

The master remembered the cup in his hand and offered it to Harm. "Okay, here. Drink this water. Got a straw to make it easier for you." Harm lifted his head back up and the straw was guided into his mouth. After several gulps, it was taken away. "Not so fast, you seem to have enough trouble keeping anything down."

"Okay," Harm sniffed. He was given the straw again and he sipped more slowly.

"Let's get you cleaned up, so we can move on." He walked away with the cup over to the sink and ran the tap. When he returned, he had a wet cloth. "Come on, now, let's dry your eyes," and he started wiping Harm's face with the cloth. Harm closed his eyes to allow the soothing coolness to pass over his itching, puffy eyelids. Then, the cloth continued to smooth over Harm's forehead, down both sides of his face and then gently rubbed across his lips. Harm kept his eyes closed and sighed, grateful for the kind gesture.

"Mmmm ... feels ... nice," Harm whispered, barely audible. He felt something else brush over his lips and his eyes flew open. It was his master's thumb and it was lightly caressing his lower lip. Harm dared not move.

"You have no right to be so tempting," said the man with the steel gray eyes, staring at Harm's lips like he was entranced. Then his mood abruptly changed and he held the cloth up to Harm's nose. "Blow," he ordered and Harm obeyed, relieved to clear out his case of the sniffles. With a last firm wipe of Harm's nose, his master walked away. Harm's neck ached from holding up his head, so he let himself go limp and his head dropped down. His captor came back over with the papers in his hand, having scooped them back up from the table.

"Time to get to business," he said. "I need you to listen very carefully now, so pay attention." Harm kept his eyes to the floor and watched his master's boots. The man started placing the papers one by one on the floor in front of his boots so Harm could see them. Harm's eyebrows shot upward as he realized they were black and white photos of ... Mac. 'Oh-god, no.' Mac in various candid or surveillance type shots, Mac getting out of her corvette, Mac jogging in the park, Mac coming out of her apartment building, Mac going into a grocery store. Harm refused to look up, knowing the panic would be written all over his face. He was totally unprepared for this particular trump card. All he could do was wait and listen.

"As you can see, we've also been watching Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. You must realize it would be just as easy to take her as we took you. I know she is your partner and your friend. I could have her brought here if you like. Just think, you could watch as my associates fuck her on that cot right over there. I'll bet she could show you a thing or two about sucking cock, too." Harm's mind wanted to splinter right then and there. He shook his head, not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting the ugly images to be put into his head by this evil son of a bitch. "I wonder if they can make her scream as loud as you, boy. Then, when her ravaged pussy is all worn out and useless, they can flip her over and take her ass."

"Noooo," Harm wailed. "Please ... master ... please don't hurt her ... I'll do anything ... I swear ... please!" Harm was beside himself, picturing the horror of such a scene. He had to protect her from this insane bastard, at all costs.

"It is all up to you." Harm's captor continued, "To ensure her safety, you must ensure ours. When or if I ever let you go, you will keep our identities a secret always. You will not report what happened here, you will not describe us to the authorities, or to anyone for that matter. Someone will always be watching you, and if I get any inkling of you or anybody else coming after us or hunting us down, your precious Colonel will suffer the consequences. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, master, completely," Harm knew he would never let them hurt Mac, whatever it took. His life was expendable, he believed wholeheartedly. It mattered not what happened to him, as long as he protected her life. He would fight for Mac's life without hesitation, and she would never even know what he sacrificed.

"Then, I take it, Sarah MacKenzie is important enough to you that I have your guaranteed silence in exchange for her continued freedom," he said, making sure to be crystal clear.

"You have it, master, as long as she remains safe," responded Harm.

"That wouldn't just be smooth lawyer talk, now would it?"

"No, master. I'm being honest here..." Harm faltered, then went on. "I will do anything to protect Mac."

"Actually, I knew that," he smiled. "And I was counting on it. Now that the serious business is out of the way, it's time for some fun." He began picking up the photos. Harm watched warily as he dropped them on the table, then went to the door and locked it. "We'll have complete privacy, my boy. No one will disturb us," he said, walking back to the table. "I've been so looking forward to this. I'm going to make it as easy as possible for you, baby, and I'll try not to damage you." He put on a pair of latex gloves and Harm's eyes widened in terror.

'Oh-god-oh-god ... no,' Harm's mind screamed silently. The moment he had been dreading had arrived. It was time for the final violation. Everything else that sick fuck did to him was just leading up to this. He didn't know how he could possibly survive this, and started shaking uncontrollably.

The master cued up a track on the CD player and said, "Let's rock and roll." An unusual percussion rhythm began to pulse through the room, followed by an eerie, haunting melody, before the vocalist started his first verse. The master ran his hands along Harm's back, pausing over the slope of his butt cheek, and continuing on down his right thigh. "Ah, such a strong, firm body," he stated, as he admired his possession. He moved around to stand directly behind Harm's ass and Harm could see down past the harness that was holding him at the exact height needed for access to his vulnerable ass. Harm looked between his spread legs and watched his captor take a tube out of his pocket and put generous amounts of lube on his finger.

"No, don't … please don't do this," Harm pleaded, making one last, desperate attempt to beg for mercy and reason with the man.

"Shut the fuck up and take it like a man," the master warned.

Harm felt his ass cheeks being pulled apart and the cold lube being spread across his puckered opening. At this point, he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Harm was having trouble breathing, fighting down the panic, trying to hang onto a thin veil of self-control. The finger was trying to gain entry to his anus and Harm clenched tightly, but his master pushed through the ring of muscle. Harm gasped in pain and his breaths came in short, ragged pants.

"Come on, sweet boy, slow down your breathing," the master called out to Harm over the strange music. "Focus on each breath, long and deep." He slid his finger further into Harm's ass, then slowly withdrew. "Nice and slow." He pushed in again, eliciting a strangled whimper from his captive. "You've got to relax, boy, it hurts so much more if you don't. Make it easier on yourself, just let go," he droned on, sliding his finger in and out more easily. Harm was in a cold sweat, concentrating solely on breathing and not clenching his sphincter. "That's it ... relax ... let it go," another squirt of lube and he added a second finger, stretching Harm's opening to prepare for his cock. With every thrust of the fingers, Harm grunted with intense discomfort, praying it would be over soon. The master was getting impatient and excited, so with his other hand he quickly unbuckled his belt, opened his pants and yanked them and his boxers down to his ankles. His weeping cock stood stiff at attention, right at the entrance to Harm's ass.

"There is one more thing I want you to do for me before I claim your sweet ass," he said, breathing heavily. "Ask me to fuck you. Beg me for it like you mean it." Harm was repulsed, but doubted that he would have any choice. "I won't fuck your ass unless you tell me to, boy. Just keep in mind, I either fuck your lovely Colonel or I fuck you. The choice is yours."

There was no choice for Harm. 'Leave Mac alone,' he thought. Once again, blackmail made an excellent trump card. He would actually have to beg to be fucked. 'I can do this ... I have to'...

"Choose," the master demanded. "Now."

"Me ... fuck *me*," Harm hissed the words through his teeth.

"What? Can't hear you."

"Fuck me!" Harm yelled louder.

"That's not terribly convincing. You'll have to beg better than that."

"Please, I'm begging you, master. Fuck *me*!" Harm was getting hysterical. No matter what he was compelled to say, he was about to be raped, plain and simple, and he wanted it done and over with. "Go ahead, do it now ... please!" He heard the sound of his own voice saying those words, and his rising level of hysteria was replaced by a feeling of intense shame.

"Well, if you say so," the man laughed gleefully. With that, he removed his fingers from inside Harm, slathered copious amounts of lube on his thick, hard manhood and pressed the head against the too small opening. He knew this wouldn't be easy. It would take restraint for him not to tear Harm apart. He pressed one hand flat against Harm's lower abdomen, bracing him, with his open palm rubbing just above Harm's cock. "Now I really need you to completely relax," he instructed Harm. "Open up to me now and I'll try not to hurt you too badly." Harm sensed the urgency of the impending assault and braced himself for the violation. The man pushed his way in slowly, and stopped often so Harm's body could adjust, exercising considerable control. The entire time, his palm pressed against Harm's belly, stroking his skin. Finally, the muscles gave way, and the master's rod was buried inside Harm's body. Harm felt impossibly full and stretched, his ass throbbing, and he let out a groan. The master held him still for a few moments, just enjoying the feeling of Harm's ass impaled on his cock. "Your ass is so hot and tight," he growled.

Harm was hurting and nauseated. He tried to focus on anything other than the pain of what was happening inside him. He heard the music repeating over and over and gave himself over to it, a welcome distraction from his harsh reality.

 

*...Walking... Waiting  
Alone without a care  
Hoping and hating  
The things that I can't bear  
...Did you think it's cool  
To walk right up  
To take my life  
And fuck it up  
Well did you?...  
I... hate... you...*

 

The man grabbed Harm' hips firmly with both hands, digging into Harm's skin, and started thrusting with the same rhythm as the music. With each thrust of his cock, he pulled Harm back against him, rocking him, causing Harm's wrists to strain painfully against the shackles. Gradually, his master thrust harder and harder, panting and grunting, and Harm let out moan after agonizing moan with each painful stroke.

 

*...Touching you makes me die inside  
I see hell in your eyes  
Touching you makes me die inside  
Taken in by surprise  
Touching you makes me die inside  
Touching you makes me feel alive  
Touching you makes me die inside  
Touching you makes me die inside  
Touching you makes me die inside...*

 

Harm's moans excited the master even more, and he no longer held back his pounding assault. His strokes became faster as he got closer to his climax. He reached around and harshly grabbed Harm's lifeless cock, pumping it with fury, to no avail. Harm's pain was becoming unbearable and his moans turned into howls as he broke down completely. He felt as though his body would split in two if this torture didn't end soon. At last, the man came, filling Harm's ass with his seed until his cock finally stopped pumping. Both of them were covered in sweat and gasping for air. The master pulled out his softening member and picked up his pants. He went over to the sink and cleaned himself off, then finished dressing. Harm was weeping softly as he hung limply, utterly defeated. His body felt bruised and battered, inside and out, and a deep, throbbing pain emanated from his backside.

"Guess it was better for me than it was for you, huh?" he smirked, abruptly leaving the room. He hadn't even bothered to turn off the infernal music that was assaulting Harm's ears.

Harm was vaguely aware that he was alone, as he wept for several more minutes. Not only was the pain distracting, the impact of what just transpired was still sinking in. Finally, he quieted down and allowed a detached numbness to take hold of his fragmented mind, in an attempt to block out the unbearable suffering. Then the strangest realization occurred to him. Each song that was played incessantly over and over during these sessions seemed to be chosen for a reason, and it was as though the words he had heard were speaking directly to him.

*...Touching you makes me die inside...*

'Ain't that the truth,' Harm thought bitterly. 'Makes me die inside ... makes me want to die.' This place was hell, and he was in it. Along with the burning discomfort, a different sensation brought Harm back to awareness. He felt a thick, sticky wetness oozing out of his rectum, sliding down between his legs, and then dripping onto the floor. A horrifying thought shook Harm to his core. He did not know whether it was blood or semen, so he forced himself to look down at the stain accumulating beneath him. 'That fucking bastard didn't use a condom,' the implications dawning on him. 'Oh-god ... help me.' Without warning, nausea overtook him and he heaved repeatedly until his stomach muscles felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.

A short while later, Harm heard the door open and numerous footsteps. He had been waiting motionless, wondering when someone would come back. They always did. Harm felt dirty, disgusting. The semen and lube from his anus were drying and the entire area was incredibly sore. He noticed that all three men had entered the room. The master finally turned off the noise from the CD player, and other than low voiced orders to his assistants, the room was once again quiet. Harm tried to follow what each one of them was doing but he couldn't seem to pay attention. Everything was a confused haze. The master came up and put his hand under Harm's chin, pulling up to look at his tear-streaked face. He stared into Harm's bloodshot eyes, but Harm did not return the gaze. His expression was blank.

"This won't do," the man stated and clicked his fingers. "Get a towel and water and clean up his face." He dropped his hand from Harm's chin and walked around behind him. The master placed both his hands on Harm's ass, one on each cheek. Harm flinched at the touch.

"Relax, pretty boy, just checking to see that you're not too badly torn." With that, he pulled Harm's cheeks apart to examine the opening and Harm hissed through his teeth. "You'll live," he muttered. He then instructed his other assistant to prepare Harm with more lube, while the first guy was washing Harm's face with a wet towel. Coming back around to the front, he checked Harm's face again.

"Not much we can do about the red eyes, but no matter. It's time to get ready," he signaled to them both. Harm noticed that the man had a camera in his hand and let out a sigh. Whatever the next ordeal was going to be, it was about to begin.

"Now listen up, boy," the master said, getting Harm's attention. "You are going to service my two associates for me while I take some pictures. Just a little added insurance, in case I ever need to use them to keep you in line. You catch my drift?"

"Yes, master," Harm answered sullenly. 'Just fucking great. More blackmail to hold over my head,' he thought. Harm's hatred and disgust welled up inside again, even though there wasn't a damn thing he could do about any of this.

"Okay, guys, I'm sure you know what to do. Enjoy," the master chuckled and got the camera ready.

"Yeah, well, just make sure *our* faces aren't in the shots," warned the pony-tailed man, standing behind Harm's ass.

"Well, you just make goddamned sure you're careful back there. Don't you dare wreck my boy's ass," he said, returning a warning of his own.

Harm felt his gut clenching in fear. It was an almost constant feeling, along with despair at the hopelessness, the complete lack of control. He wanted so much to protest, to beg, to fight, but knew he could do nothing but take everything they dished out. Any single reason would have been a sufficient threat to ensure Harm's compliance, yet the master made sure to cover all his bases. Harm would obey to avoid the dreaded electric shocks to his genitals, he would do anything in his power to protect Mac from ending up in their evil clutches, and now he had to worry about what the master would do with explicit photos of him. If the Navy, or anyone he knew for that matter, ever saw them, not only would his career be over, he would surely die of shame. Every time he surrendered his will, a little piece of his sanity went along with it. Harm was beginning to believe that total surrender and acceptance of his fate would be the only way to go. He just hoped he wouldn't lose his mind in the process.

Harm was drawn back to the present. The muscular young man with the light hair was standing right in front of him, unzipping his pants. He took his heavy cock out and Harm knew what was expected of him.

"Hey, can we have some music to fuck to?" the pony-tailed man behind Harm asked. He too had pulled out his stiffening rod and was in the process of smoothing lube on it.

"Sure, why not?" the master said, walking over to the table. He cued up the track he wanted and hit the repeat play button, and another loud, thumping, angry song filled the air.

*Drowning deep in my sea of loathing  
Broken your servant I kneel  
It seems what's left of my human side  
Is slowly changing in me

Looking at my own reflection  
When suddenly it changes  
Violently it changes (oh no)  
There is no turning back now  
You've woken up the demon in me

Get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
You mother, get up, come on get down with the sickness  
You fucker, get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Madness is the gift, that has been given to me...*

Harm squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want to see what was coming at him. Harm forced himself to open his mouth when he felt the head of the young man's cock nudging at his lips. The man immediately began his rhythmic thrusting into Harm's mouth and Harm detached himself from what he had to do, vaguely aware that while this oral rape was happening, his master was shooting photos of it from various angles. Harm felt a sudden prodding at his anus, which was still extremely sore from the earlier violation.

"Knock, knock, better let me in!" the dark haired man laughed viciously.

Harm's eyes flew open in horror and he tried to scream in protest, but was cut off by the cock filling his mouth, his scream sounding more like a strangled moan. He began gagging and he panicked, his fists clenched, his tense body straining against both the shackles and the cock that was trying to push its way into him. Although he tried, he could not unclench his muscles, could not prepare for the intrusion, even though the pony-tailed man was determined to force his way past the tight ring of muscle. Harm could not breathe, and he tried desperately to pull his mouth away from the thrusting member, but the young man held his head fast with both hands. Harm felt the room spinning, everything was going far away and dark, he was suffocating, and he was certain that he was going to die. On the verge of blacking out, he gave himself over to it, and his body suddenly let go and went limp. At that moment, the pony-tailed man gained entry to Harm's ass without resistance, and his cock started pumping slowly inside him. Harm's jaw had gone slack, and the other man's cock slid out of Harm's mouth.

"What the fuck?" He held Harm's head up with one hand, slapping his face several times. "Christ, he's passing out on us, Chief," he said, frustrated. "I was getting close, too." The pony-tailed man was laughing at him, but stopped his rhythm momentarily to reach up and smack Harm hard between the shoulders. Harm inhaled sharply, a deep gasping breath filled his lungs, and then he went into a fit of coughing. As he came back to awareness, he opened his eyes.

"He's awake," the sandy haired man announced, still holding Harm's head up.

*...I can see inside you, the sickness is rising  
Don't try to deny what you feel  
It seems that all that was good has died  
And is decaying in me

It seems you're having some trouble  
In dealing with these changes  
Living with these changes  
The world is a scary place  
Now that you've woken up the demon in me...*

Harm was catching his breath, and still in a daze. He remembered where he was now, what was taking place. He felt the dull, throbbing pain of a cock sliding in and out of his ass, but was too out of it to react in any way. There were more flashes from the camera. The other cock was no longer in his mouth, but as his vision cleared, he saw it just inches from his lips. He couldn't help but watch, morbidly transfixed, as the powerful young man masturbated right in front of him. He was impatiently pumping his thick shaft, building back up to the point nearing orgasm before he had been interrupted by Harm's choking spell. With his free hand, he had a firm grip on Harm's chin, holding him still.

"I oughta shove this right down your throat," growled the sandy haired man, panting from excitement. Harm couldn't move or look away and he heard laughter behind him. The pony-tailed man was fucking him harder now, and Harm's eyes simply glazed over. When Harm felt the tip of a cock brushing across his lips, he automatically opened his mouth. The master saw that and was pleased, and he clicked the camera's button again. Harm was expecting the cock to enter his mouth and was surprised when it didn't. The young man was frantically jerking himself off and rubbing his weeping member over Harm's lips. He groaned as he reached climax, his pulsing manhood sending thick globs of milky white sperm dripping from Harm's face. Harm's mouth was still open, his face lit with a look of astonishment. Another flash from the camera went off.

"Oh, yeah!" shouted the pony-tailed man. With a few more hard thrusts in Harm's ass, he followed over the edge with his own release, the tight grip of his fingers leaving bruises on Harm's hips. More flashes. He leaned heavily across Harm's back, completely spent. The harness supports creaked from the added weight. Harm shuddered.

"Excellent!" The master was thrilled. "Just one more thing. Reach around and jack him off." The other man chuckled and wrapped his fist around Harm's flaccid shaft, pumping it. The master took two more shots. Harm's cock did not respond, but the hand kept stroking.

"He ain't getting hard, Chief," the pony-tailed man complained. The older man turned and looked at his helpless captive for several moments as he was being played with.

"Let him be. I got enough," he muttered. "Both of you go take a break, get cleaned up." The pony-tailed man straightened up, slid his spent cock out of Harm's body, tucked himself back in, and zipped up. He and the other young man exited, satisfied grins on their faces, heading for the shower. Harm was once again alone with his master.

 

*…Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Open up your hate, and let it flow into me  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
You mother, get up, come on get down with the sickness  
You fucker, get up, come on get down with the sickness  
Madness has now come over me*

The man stared at Harm until the song finished, and then stopped the music. Harm wasn't moving, his head hanging, but in the silence of the room, the man could hear his ragged breathing as it gradually slowed down. He could see the physical and mental stress taking its toll, as he looked at Harm's face from the side. Harm's eyes were open, but unfocused, and when the man walked over and put his hand on Harm's shoulder, Harm did not lift his head.

"How are ya doing, my boy?" he asked Harm.

"Hurting ... bad," Harm whimpered.

"I know, sweet boy. Long day, but it's almost over." The master continued, as he checked him over, "Don't worry, I'm gonna take good care of you now. I won't be giving you to my associates for a while. You're all mine now, just mine." He walked up behind Harm's ass and examined him briefly. "Damn it, you're a mess," he mumbled under his breath, and looked up in time to see Harm trying to rub the side of his face into his shoulder, first one side and then the other. His master walked back around to stand in front of him.

"Look at me," he ordered firmly. Harm lifted his face to him anxiously, fear in his eyes, biting his lower lip. The semen had formed sticky white streaks on his cheeks and chin. "Christ, you're a pitiful, fucking mess." He shook his head. "I'll get you cleaned up. How does that sound?"

"Okay," Harm murmured dejectedly. He assumed that would mean a cold-water hose down, not exactly something to be thrilled about. Not that it mattered, since he was beyond caring.

"I promise to make you feel better. I'll be right back. Okay?"

"Okay," Harm acknowledged again, as his master left the room.

***

The atmosphere was tense at JAG Headquarters, as various personnel were getting ready to wrap up their business day. It was quiet, except for occasional whispered conjectures in regards to the missing Commander Rabb. Mac's trip out to Harm's apartment had been fruitless, not that she had expected any other outcome. He simply wasn't there and Mac thought it was just plain weird. Even though she had been holding Harm at arm's length, she was concerned about him. Their partnership and their friendship had been through so much, and no matter what happened, Mac realized she could never stop caring. There was a soft knock at her office door.

"Enter," said Mac.

"Excuse me, ma'am." It was Petty Officer Coates. "The admiral wants to see you a.s.a.p."

"Thank you, Petty Officer," Mac acknowledged, as she stood up.

"Any word on Commander Rabb yet, ma'am?" Coates looked concerned.

"No, I'm afraid not ... excuse me," Mac headed for Chegwidden's office. She knocked at his door, and upon hearing the command to enter, she stepped in and came to attention. "Sir ..."

"At ease, Colonel, and close the door." Mac did so, and then came to the 'at ease' position. "Status report on the Commander," said the Admiral, looking at her over his reading glasses.

"Sir, there has still been no word as to his whereabouts. I went to his apartment at noon. He wasn't there and his vehicle was not in the parking lot," Mac explained. "Lieutenant Roberts checked hospital emergency rooms and accident reports. No one has received any messages from or about him."

"I see," the Admiral looked exasperated.

"Sir, if I may speak freely," Mac hesitated.

"Go ahead, Colonel."

"My instincts tell me that whatever may have happened to the Commander, I believe it to be unintentional and out of his control. He would never just disappear without a word. He would notify someone if he could. I just have a bad feeling, sir," said Mac, her eyes full of worry.

"Well, I am hopeful that Commander Rabb would be smart enough not to risk a UA report. I will hold off on such action until 0800 hours tomorrow, at which time he will have been officially missing for 24 hours. Then I will have no choice but to notify authorities," the Admiral sounded annoyed.

"Authorities ... sir?" Mac looked alarmed.

"Yes, Colonel, the police, NCIS, for starters. You do want Rabb found, don't you?"

"Yes, sir!" she answered. "I thought I'd check out his apartment again this evening. Maybe he'll turn up on his own."

"You have until tomorrow morning to try and find him ... unofficially," the Admiral said, taking off his glasses. "Then it becomes official. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," she came to attention and about faced, heading to the door. "Good night, Admiral."

"Good night, Colonel," Chegwidden answered, and after Mac had closed his door he added, "... and good luck." He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "Dammit, Rabb."

***

Within a few minutes the man returned with his assistants, all three of them carrying a load of various supplies. They dropped the various items on the table and instructions were given.

"That will be all for now. I'll take it from here," said the older man in charge. "I need you to stay close by for a while longer, just in case, so have dinner brought in and wait in the next room." The two younger men left. Harm watched anxiously while the man moved about making preparations. First, a large basin was placed in the sink to fill with hot, soapy water. While the tap was running, the master brought over the stool, setting it directly below Harm's head. Then he retrieved the full basin and placed it on the stool. He cupped his hand under Harm's chin and lifted his head. With the other hand, he tested the water's temperature, wringing out a sopping washcloth. He thoroughly scrubbed Harm's face with the warm, wet cloth, and then moved the basin over to the table. He then carried two shallow bowls and set them side-by-side on the stool. One contained water and the other warm oatmeal. Harm looked up at his master, waiting for permission.

"Go ahead, I don't have time to spoon feed you right now," said the man. Harm was grateful for the chance to relieve the emptiness gnawing in his belly and he lapped at the bland oatmeal first, like an eager puppy. In the meantime, his master proceeded with washing Harm's entire body, rubbing and massaging the warm wetness into his skin and gently patting where he was sore and raw. Then, after refilling the basin with fresh hot water and a new cloth, he repeated his ministrations to rinse off the soap. By that time, Harm had finished lapping up all the oatmeal and the bowl of water as well. The master was nothing if not thorough, and when he noticed that Harm had finished in peace, he proceeded to cleanse Harm's genitals. Harm stiffened uncomfortably at the intimate contact. Until this point, he had relaxed for a few minutes from the soothing sponge bath. The master smirked, moving slowly and carefully, but not lingering too long. He wanted to lull Harm into needing him, to be the giver of comfort and compassion, not just pain and humiliation. The combination would keep Harm off balance, confused. Using plenty of warm water, he gently ministered to Harm's delicate anal area. Harm audibly sucked in his breath at the slightest touches. The master then applied an antibiotic, analgesic ointment to the abused area and Harm felt an almost immediate lessening of the burning, throbbing pain. Harm's damp skin was cooling in the chilly room and he shivered. Harm thought he'd never really feel clean again, but at least his stale sweat and other sticky evidence of his ordeal were washed away and he smelled fresh. He let out a long sigh of resignation and exhaustion, as his master toweled him dry.

"Better?" the man asked gruffly.

"Yes, thank you ... master," Harm whispered, quivering. He was on the verge of breaking down again and fought back the urge to cry. 'God, I'm so pathetic, I'm really losing it,' he thought.

"Come on now, boy, you're not gonna cry every time I do something nice for you, are you?" teased the master. "Are you trying to make me feel bad?" He looked into Harm's shining eyes as he stroked Harm's cheek.

"I'm sorry, master." Harm's voice cracked and he looked away, willing his unshed tears not to fall. The fear in his face returned, fear of more punishment, fear of his master's anger. The master remained calm and bent down close to Harm's face.

"It's okay. You did very well today, baby," the master spoke softly.

"I did?" Harm looked up, confused.

"Yes, and I want you to continue being a good boy, so I can reward you." The man was testing Harm to see if he took the bait.

"I'll be a good boy, master," Harm looked hopeful.

"Would you like for me to get you down from there, boy?" the man asked.

"Oh ... yes ... master," Harm was apprehensive; a brief flash going through his mind, hoping this wasn't a trap.

"All right then, listen up," the man decided. "You do realize there is no escape from this place, right? I trust you to behave and do exactly what I say. If you don't, you'll only succeed in seriously pissing me off, and you'll wish you hadn't. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, I promise, master. I'll be good," Harm replied, impatiently. He watched the man pick something up off the table and walk back to him.

"Obey me completely and you won't have anything to worry about," explained the master, as he put a choke chain collar over Harm's head to hang around his neck. A leather leash dangled from the chain. "If you make a wrong move, this will choke you." Harm trembled as he became more anxious, wondering what to expect next.

"Uh ... master?"

"What?"

"Permission to speak, master?" Harm could barely get the words out.

"All right," the man was curious as to what his captive so desperately needed to say.

"I ... uh ... master ... I have to go," Harm said softly.

"Where do you think you have to go to?" The man was amused and he smirked.

"Um ... please ... I really need to pee ... please?" Harm begged, being more specific this time.

"Can't you hold it a few more minutes, until after I get you down?"

"Okay," Harm sighed.

"Let's get to it then." The master explained what he was doing each step. "I'm going to undo the four cuffs from the poles first. Don't struggle, just wait quietly until I lower you." He walked around Harm to the left wrist first, unlocking a mechanism that released where the shackle was attached to the pole. The cuff itself still tightly bound Harm's wrist, which was a major disappointment to Harm. The man held onto Harm's fist giving support, then lowered his arm slowly until it hung straight down. Harm's left shoulder ached and he couldn't resist the temptation to flex his fingers. He watched his master working the cuff on his right wrist. This time he just let go of Harm's hand and his arm dropped like dead weight, his right shoulder muscles screaming in protest.

"Owww," Harm moaned. He opened and closed his fists several times and stretched, trying to get the blood flowing, muscles stiff and aching from being trapped and stationary for so long. He stared at the shackles, wondering how they might come off. He wanted to bend his arms at the elbows and fought the urge to rub his upper arms with his hands.

"Stay still," warned his master, slapping Harm on his butt. He was behind Harm and released his right ankle, then the left one. Harm instinctively pulled his legs together, slightly bent at the knees, feet on the floor. His calf and hamstring muscles were even more cramped up than his arms and shoulders and he groaned in discomfort. He had, after all, been suspended and staked out in that one position for three full days. The master smirked and shook his head.

"Just relax," the man instructed. "The support you're laying on is going to lower you to the floor, so don't try to pull yourself up or out. You will not stand up unless told to do so." The entire structure seemed to be moving electronically. As Harm watched the floor coming closer, the man spoke again. "Put your hands out, palms down and rest on your hands and knees when they touch the floor." Harm obeyed, quietly waiting, as the leather harness continued lowering, falling away from his torso until it reached the floor beneath him. Only the support chains hung loosely on either side of Harm. He was trembling slightly as he waited on his hands and knees, not sure he could move if he wanted to. His strength had been sapped and he could barely hold himself up. Even though the thought of an escape attempt flitted through his mind, his body was too weak to act on it.

"Come straight forward or you'll get tangled up," his master commanded. He stood in front of Harm and pulled on the leash, the chain tightening around Harm's neck. With a look of surprise at suddenly being tugged, Harm wasn't sure what to do exactly. He crawled, awkwardly, trying to keep the chain from pulling any tighter. The hard floor hurt his knees and his muscles and joints didn't want to cooperate. He nearly collapsed and couldn't quite keep up, following behind his master as he walked away. The man stopped at the sink, turned and crossed his arms, looking down at his captive as he waited on his hands and knees. Harm coughed and his hand instinctively came up to his throat in an attempt to loosen the collar.

"Stay," he ordered, giving Harm a swat to the back of the head. "It loosens automatically as long as the leash is slack." Harm hung his head. 'Damn, fucked up again.' The master pulled a pail out from under the sink and set it on the floor near him.

"Stand up, boy," he commanded. Harm winced as he painfully got to his feet, keeping his eyes downcast. Once he was standing, he automatically locked his right hand around his left wrist in front of him, trying to cover himself.

"Wrong!" the master shouted. He was still holding the leash and he snapped the end, lashing Harm hard across his hip and raising a new welt. Harm gasped, looking bewildered. "When I allow you to stand, you will stand at parade rest, boy," he explained. "You will not cover up. You will not hide your assets from me at any time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," Harm assumed the position, feet spread apart, arms locked behind his back. He looked straight ahead at the wall, not daring to lock eyes with his master. 'How does he know about parade rest?' Harm wondered. He noticed the man was not quite as tall as him, but then few people were, and a he was a bit paunchy. He wondered for a moment if he would be able to take him on, to make a break for it. Then he assumed the two muscular henchmen must be nearby. The master would never really trust him to behave. Standing there, he started to feel a little light-headed.

The man walked all the way around Harm, looking him up and down. He was certainly a fine specimen, in all his naked male glory. From the determined set of his jaw as he stared straight ahead, to the rigid stance of his fit, firm body, and in spite of the scars of his ordeal, the man found his captive to be quite impressive. The man's gaze took in the thick chain hanging around Harm's neck, the black metal manacles around his wrists and ankles, and the bruises and welts marking his skin from his shoulders down to the back of his thighs. As the man completed his circle, he noticed the marks from the leather harness and the pattern of body hair in front reaching from just below his chest to the lower belly. The man made a mental note to have the hair removed, but that could wait until morning. It was just one of his twisted kinks to have his captive's body completely hairless. His gaze lingered on Harm's equipment, but he resisted the temptation to reach for it. He watched Harm wobble slightly and his reverie was broken.

"Relax, pretty boy," he said to Harm. He pointed to the pail and smirked. "Go on now, go pee for your master." Harm brought his arms loosely to his sides. He hesitated, remembering his master's rule about keeping his hands away from himself and stole a quick glance toward the man. The man caught on, as Harm just stood there wondering if he'd be able to aim without taking his penis in hand. Any wrong move on his part, he had learned, could elicit a volatile reaction from his master. Harm could take the beatings and whippings, he had so far survived being raped, but he was terrified of the electric shock and the threats of blackmail. All this combined to cause him great mental anguish and effectively succeeded in making him compliant.

"It's okay, go ahead," the man snorted, then turned away, ignoring Harm. Harm kept him in view from the corner of his eye, then quickly aimed and relieved his urgent need into the pail. As soon as he finished, he let go of himself and clasped his arms behind his back once more. He hoped for his master's approval, needed it, and was ashamed that he did. The man turned back toward Harm.

"Go get a drink of water from the sink, if you want," he said. Harm looked at him with surprise, not trusting himself to have heard him correctly. Then he stepped over to the sink, turned on the faucet and scooped the water into his cupped hands, drinking as quickly as he could manage. As soon as he turned off the faucet, he felt the pull of the chain on his neck.

"Down ... on the floor," he ordered, and Harm dropped to his hands and knees instantly. The concrete floor was so cold and hard on his knees. His master tugged on the leash and Harm followed, crawling behind him as they crossed the room to the corner where the cot was. The man stood near the end that was against the wall and he gestured toward the thin mattress. "Get up here and lie down on your back, my sweet boy," he commanded. Harm crawled up from the floor and slid onto the cot, then rolled onto his back, wincing at the contact of the plastic mattress cover pressing against the welts and bruises on his back and ass. The cot was not quite long enough to accommodate his tall frame and he bent both his legs, his feet planted flat on the cot, knees raised slightly off the mattress. He didn't know what his master wanted him to do with his hands, so he laid his left arm along his side and placed his right hand on his stomach. He feared that the master would shackle him spread-eagled, and yet that would still be better than being trussed up on those four poles. He trembled visibly as he glanced over at them, which the man noticed.

"Shhhh, don't be afraid," said the man, leaning over and stroking Harm's face, "or are you just cold?"

"Both ... master," Harm answered timidly, gazing up at his captor's cold eyes.

"You know, if you continue to be such a good boy, I may let you spend every night right here," his master stated, continuing to caress Harm's face as he spoke.

"Okay," said Harm in a very small voice.

"Now, give me your hand," the man ordered. Harm raised his left arm straight up in the air and his master grabbed it by the wrist. "I have to do this, my sweet boy," he explained as he pulled Harm's arm up over his head and fastened the wrist cuff to a corresponding mechanism on the wall behind him. "Trust works both ways, and you haven't earned my trust ... yet." He held out his hand to Harm and gestured. "Other hand." Harm obediently held up his right arm and watched his master repeat the procedure. The man loosened the chain around Harm's neck and slid it off over his head, dropping it and the leash to the floor.

The man looked at Harm as he lay there on his back, his wrists shackled to the wall behind his head. The arms were bent at the elbows, not stretched tight, but he wasn't going anywhere. He thought about shackling Harm's ankles as well, then decided it wasn't necessary and might prove to be another test for his compliant captive. He felt confident that he had successfully broken the Navy Commander, but it wouldn't hurt to keep testing and reinforcing his utter surrender. He contemplated his good fortune, as he looked at Harm's forlorn expression and that exquisite, quivering body in front of him. It may have started out as a job, but he certainly did enjoy his work. He was determined to make Harm satisfy all his lustful urges and kinks, as well making him totally dependent on him, and he would make this last for as long as possible. However, it was getting late, he was tired, and everything else could wait until tomorrow. He would give his captive a break tonight. That in itself should keep Harm in a state of confusion.

Harm observed the man suspiciously, careful to avoid direct eye contact. He watched him walk out the door, leaving it open, but he returned momentarily with a blanket in his arms. Harm chewed on his lower lip, wondering what he would have to endure to get that blanket for the night. His master laid it on the corner of the cot, and then sat on the edge of the mattress, near Harm's right hip. He placed his hand on Harm's thigh, caressing lightly, feeling the flesh trembling beneath his fingertips.

"I'll leave your legs free, if you behave," he smiled at Harm, his feral grin never reaching his eyes. "Promise to behave?"

"Yes, master." Harm's response was no more than a whisper. The look in his captor's eyes chilled him to the bone, but he could not break away from the man's intent gaze. He held his breath as the hand slid from his thigh up to his hip, and then broke contact. The man stood up and proceeded to unfold the blanket.

"I'm going to give you this, and I'm not even going to make you give me anything in return," he grinned at Harm, holding up the blanket. "Let's try and get you at least a little comfortable." He looked at Harm's legs and tapped his knee. "Get your knees down. Either straighten your legs or roll to your side." Harm let his legs fall to the right, turning his lower body slightly toward his captor. He assumed there would not be enough slack from his shackled arms to curl up completely on his side, so he settled where he was and waited in silence. The man unfurled the blanket and it floated down, covering Harm thoroughly. Harm watched him as he tucked it around his body, the edges coming nearly to his shoulders.

"This should help you stay warm," said the man, as he held Harm's gaze with his own.

"Thank you, master," Harm sighed. He was so very tired. The man was still leaning over Harm, their faces only inches apart. Harm could smell stale smoke and alcohol on the man's breath.

The master stared at Harm's lips, which were slightly parted. Impulsively, he leaned forward and brushed against Harm's quivering lips with his own. Harm's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't dare move. The man pulled back, and then caressed Harm's cheek with his fingers. Harm hadn't returned the kiss, but he didn't pull away either. He was pleased with the progression of Harm's obedience, even if it was still passive. Suddenly, without a word, he turned and left the room, flipping off the light on his way out.

'Well, that was too weird,' Harm thought. Everything the master did seemed to throw him off balance. Harm couldn't figure out what made this man tick, not that he really wanted to get in the guy's head. He wondered how far the man's bizarre game would go, and for how long. He wondered how much more he would have to endure to survive this ordeal. He wished he could understand why the man hated him enough to want to utterly destroy him. He wondered if he surrendered his body and mind completely, would there be anything left of Harmon Rabb, Jr. He felt his sanity slipping away, as he had all but given up. He felt himself giving in to the sadness, the loneliness, and the futility, and that thought scared him more than any other.

Harm was beginning to dread the darkness. The daytime hell was worse, but the nights were almost as bad for him. He felt utterly alone in the pitch black while those long hours passed, either trapped in nightmares when he dozed off, or desperately consumed by his thoughts while awake. Harm turned onto his side as much as possible, his arms still stretched over his head. He drew his knees up to his chest and carefully curled up beneath the blanket that covered him. The last sounds he heard, before he sank into oblivion, were the clinking of the metal wrist cuffs and his own ragged sighs as he choked back the urge to weep.

***

The following morning brought a flurry of activity at JAG Headquarters. Admiral Chegwidden had put Lt. Roberts in charge of providing any required information about Commander Rabb to the investigators sent from the local police department and NCIS, and to coordinate the efforts between them, as well as with the JAG office. Commander Rabb had apparently disappeared sometime between 1935 hours Friday and 0800 Monday. Missing Persons reports would be filed and his license plate number processed through the system. The list of area hospitals would be checked again and they would contact the morgue as well. The two investigators completed their interviews among the JAG staff and informed Lt. Roberts they'd be in touch if they had any more questions. Upon their departure, Bud was summoned to the Admiral's office.

"Enter," spoke Chegwidden, after Bud knocked on his door.

"Reporting as ordered, sir," Bud stood at attention.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Chegwidden said. He was seated at his desk and looked up from the file he had been reading. "How did it go?"

"Sir, they're following a list of standard operating procedures. Information at this point is sketchy at best. There just isn't a whole lot to go on right now, but I'll keep digging. We'll find him, sir," said Bud, with a determined look on his face.

"Keep me informed, Lieutenant," answered the Admiral. "And do whatever you can. Dismissed."

"Aye-aye, sir." Bud left the office, pulling the door shut behind him.

Chegwidden took off his reading glasses and rubbed his face. He knew he had assigned the right man to this task. Bud Roberts could be like a dog with a bone in his persistence. His tenacity reminded the Admiral of a certain Commander. He stood up, walked over to the window, and gazed out at the cold, gray November skies.

"Where the hell are you, Rabb?"

***

Harmon Rabb was still curled up on the cot. The blanket covering him had helped him to retain some body heat, but his arms were stiff with cold. He ached all over and was acutely aware of the dull, burning pain throughout his anal area. He moved as little as possible, not wanting to cause the blanket to slip away. He had no way of knowing whether it was night or day. He couldn't begin to guess how many hours had passed in the darkness. Although he slept some, time seemed to crawl endlessly when he was awake. He wished he had an internal clock, like Mac did. Her ability to keep time without a watch was eerie to him. Mac. It hurt to think of her. He couldn't help wondering what she was doing right now. They had both been through so much, together as partners and friends, and apart. They had hurt each other with misunderstandings and said things they both regretted. Harm pictured her beautiful face in his mind. He could get lost in her deep, soulful eyes. All the mistakes he had made, all those chances he had blown, and now Harm feared he would never get another chance to tell her how he really felt, that he would die here and she would never know how much he loved her. He realized he would never want her to know what had been done to him. He was damaged goods, and he assumed that she would never want him now. He felt profound sadness and despair. It was too painful to be alone with these thoughts. Harm actually found himself hoping someone would come soon.

Harm waited and waited. It seemed an even longer stretch of time than previous days. He wondered what time of day it was. Maybe they were late or maybe no one was coming back. What if something happened to all three of them and no one would ever find him? Harm's level of anxiety climbed with each passing minute.

Finally the door opened and Harm groaned with relief. The light switched on and he saw that it was the two younger men who had been assisting the master.

"Please ... hurry!" Harm called out, his voice frantic and pleading.

"What's wrong?" asked the lighter haired man, striding quickly over to the side of the cot. Harm had observed that he was generally the more compassionate of the two. Harm rolled onto his back.

"Please ... help me ... let me up," Harm begged urgently, his discomfort evident. The last thing he wanted to do was to wet the bed. "Please ... I need the pail ... NOW ... pleeease."

"Okay, okay," said the sandy haired man, quickly releasing Harm's right wrist cuff from the wall. He left Harm's left wrist attached and yanked the blanket off him. Then he gestured to the dark haired man.

"Bring the pail over here," he told the other man.

"Why should I?" snorted the dark haired one. "Let's make him suffer." Yup. That guy had a definite cruel streak. He apparently enjoyed being the master's protégé.

"Fine. I'll get it myself," the sandy haired man said, sounding annoyed. He directed his attention back to Harm, picking up the chain collar and slipping it over Harm's head. "Stand up, right here." He pointed to a spot next to the left side of the cot. "Do you need help getting up?" he offered, holding his hand out to Harm.

"Uh ... I think I can manage," Harm replied, as he sat up and swung his legs over the side. He pulled himself to his feet, his left arm stretched awkwardly behind him. A wave of dizziness came over him and he wobbled, nearly losing his balance. He tried to lean towards the wall to steady himself, but the sandy haired man grabbed Harm's right forearm and held him fast.

"Hang on," instructed the young man. He didn't want to let go of Harm yet, but he also needed to retrieve that pail.

"I'm okay," Harm said, looking him in the eye.

"Just stay right here," said the sandy haired man, releasing his grip on Harm.

"Where am I gonna go?" asked Harm sarcastically.

The young man chuckled as he turned away, almost bumping into the dark haired man, who had come up behind him, and was holding the pail and grinning.

"Give me that," the sandy haired man said in an exasperated tone, snatching the pail. He turned and set it on the floor right in front of where Harm was standing.

"Thanks," Harm acknowledged. He immediately took himself in hand. The wait for relief had been painfully long and he wasn't sure if he could have lasted another minute. As he concluded his business, he was aware that the two young men were in a heated discussion. Although they kept their voices low, they were throwing daggers at each other with the looks in their eyes.

"...Yeah, well, you heard what the boss said. Leave him alone," snarled the light haired one.

"Whatever. I sure as hell don't answer to you," retorted the dark haired one.

"Hey, it's your fault the boss is pissed off. If you hadn't gotten carried away yesterday and tore up his plaything's ass, he wouldn't be in such a lousy mood. So stay the hell away from his prize and just do your job."

"Well, if I can't have any fun with his toy, then I'm outta here. Taking care of him is boring. You deal with it." The dark haired man motioned with his hand, indicating Harm, and started walking to the exit, muttering under his breath. "The Chief is a damned drunken fool." He left.

Harm was still standing in the same spot, not knowing what else to do. 'Dissension in the ranks?' he wondered. The light haired man caught Harm's gaze and shook his head.

"I suppose you heard all that."

Harm nodded, but said nothing.

"Sit," the young man ordered. Harm sat on the edge of the cot. "Look, I need to do some things before my boss arrives ... gotta take care of you. So don't give me any grief, okay?"

"Okay," Harm answered, looking up at him.

"Do you want some water?" the young man asked.

"Yes, sir," Harm replied quickly.

"Jeez, don't call me 'sir', you're way older than me," he protested.

"Well, what do I call you? I don't know your name," Harm pressed quietly.

"Sorry, no names. You are not to know our names and we can't address you by yours. That's one of the rules," the young man explained, as he went and got a cup of water from the sink. He handed it to Harm, who gulped the contents down right away.

"Why do you call your boss Chief and why do you work for him?" Harm asked, handing over the empty cup.

"It's just a nickname … and no more questions. Be quiet." The young man gave Harm an irritated glare, then continued, "Lie down on your back." Harm complied. With his left arm still shackled to the wall, there wasn't much else he could do. He got himself situated on the cot while the light haired man retrieved items from the table. When Harm noticed that the young man had put on a surgical glove and was carrying a bottle, he became apprehensive. The young man noticed Harm's expression as he sat on the edge of the cot, along the side of Harm's right leg. "Now don't freak out on me," he said, as he turned to face Harm. "This is just hair remover, like the other day. I have to get rid of what we couldn't reach when you were on your stomach." With the gloved hand he began to spread the lotion on Harm's torso. The line of remaining body hair, which had been hidden underneath the harness, started just below Harm's chest, coming to a 'V', continuing in a thin line past his navel, and ending just two inches above the base of his penis, where the lower edge of the harness had ended.

Harm watched every move the young man made, as the lotion was smoothed on evenly. The young man was all business though, so Harm found himself looking down at his own hairless balls and thought how strange it was to have no pubic hair at all. It made him feel even more naked and he felt himself flush uncomfortably. The young man got up as soon as he was finished.

"Now we wait just a few minutes," he said. Then he looked down at Harm and lowered his voice. "I'm gonna let you in on something." Harm raised his eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, and waited for him to continue. "As you heard, my boss is in a foul mood."

"How worried should I be?" Harm asked nervously.

"You? Nah, he ain't pissed at you. If anything, you are to take it easy today." He explained further. "In other words, he ain't gonna fuck your ass until you've recovered a bit. It seems you sustained a little damage from yesterday's activities, so he wants to wait until your hole has had a chance to heal."

"That's why he's upset with your cohort?" Harm had to ask. The young man nodded. Harm continued. "So, I'm injured because both of them ... *raped* me." Saying the word out loud was difficult for Harm. "As far as I'm concerned, they're equally to blame," he spat angrily.

The young man went and got some paper towels, sat back down, and started wiping the sticky lotion along with any hair off Harm's belly, until the skin was smooth, matching the rest of Harm's hairless body. After throwing the towels in the wastebasket, he pulled off the latex glove, and came back again with a wet cloth. This time he leaned over Harm and washed his face first, then moved the warm cloth down to his chest and stomach, washing away the last traces of the hair remover. He finished scrubbing Harm's abdomen, and stopped before reaching his genitals.

"Thanks," said Harm. "Thanks for treating me like a human being instead of a thing. You don't seem to be as sadistic as those other two. Why is that?"

"You really are a lawyer, aren't you?" the young man retorted, not waiting for an answer. "You talk too much and you ask too many questions. I suggest you don't push your luck. Just let me do my job ... which, by the way, I need to finish doing." He walked to the sink and back, with another latex glove in his hand, and stood at the foot of the cot.

"Listen up," he ordered. "Normally, we're supposed to prepare you for your master each and every morning. That usually entails hosing you off and flushing you out, which requires hoisting you up on that." He pointed over to the poles and harness contraption. "Since I'm working alone here, I don't feel much like bothering with all that. Also, since your ass will be left alone today, I think we can dispense with the enema ... unless you feel the need to ..."

"No ... no, really ... no need at all," Harm replied quickly.

"All right, then there's only one thing I have to do before I can leave," he said, pulling on the glove. "Trust me, it's no big thrill for me either, but I have to medicate your hole. It's for your own good." He sounded almost sympathetic. "If you can't deal with cooperating voluntarily, then I'll have no choice but to chain your ankle cuffs to the wall, which is a most uncomfortable position." Harm's anxiety level rose. He couldn't even imagine how such a thing would be possible.

"Um ... just tell me what I have to do," Harm mumbled.

"Well, let's see. You could stay where you are, spread your legs, then pull your knees all the way up to your chest, or you could get up on your hands and knees, whichever you think would be easier for you to handle."

Harm pondered his options and chose what he thought would be the lesser of two evils. "Hands and knees," he decided.

"Do it," ordered the young man. "Let's get this over with. Roll over onto your stomach first, then you can get up." Harm obeyed. As he turned, the wrist cuff turned easily with him, and he pulled himself up to his knees, his left palm against the wall for leverage. He placed his right hand on the mattress. The young man walked around to Harm's right side and tapped his arm.  
"Get down on your elbow and rest your head on your forearm," he instructed. Harm lowered his upper body down to that position, knowing his ass was up in the air and exposed. The young man squeezed some ointment onto his gloved finger. "Spread your knees apart ... more ... now." Harm complied, his anus burning, and he buried his face into the crook of his arm. No matter how many times he was humiliated, it never got any easier. A small moan escaped from his throat when the cool gel made contact with his puckered opening. The fingers spread the healing salve all around the sensitive area, and then the tip of a finger pushed through his sore ring of muscle to insert more ointment inside him. Harm flinched, then groaned at the intrusion.

"oh-god," Harm whispered. Then, just as suddenly, the finger withdrew, and the burning, throbbing pain began fading to a dull ache.

"Sorry if that hurt. We're done. You did just fine," the young man said. He laid out a small towel beneath Harm. "You can lie down now, on your stomach." Harm slid down and carefully sank face down into the mattress, his shackled left arm stretched out awkwardly, his palm still flat against the wall behind his head. His free arm was bent in front of him and he was resting his forehead on his forearm.

The young man spoke again. "Look, I'm not supposed to leave you like this. I need to fasten your other wrist." Harm sighed and straightened his right arm out towards the wall. His complete lack of resistance was not lost on the younger man. Holding onto Harm's offered wrist, he leaned down close and whispered into Harm's ear. "Of course, if you promise not to try to get up or get loose, it would be a way to show you can be trusted."

"Okay, I can do that," Harm whispered back, turning his head to look at the light haired man.

"Let me give you a piece of advice about the key to your survival in this place," he continued softly. He let go of Harm's wrist and Harm tucked his hand under his chin. "Obviously you have figured out that being cooperative and obedient to avoid severe punishment helps make things easier on you. However, submitting without putting up a fight physically is not enough. It's even more difficult to surrender mentally. Your master thinks of you as his slave, a toy, or a pet even. He needs to feel needed. He wants you to be mindlessly dependent on him. No matter what he demands of you, do it willingly. Show your appreciation when he fusses over you. It will earn you not only more privileges, but his trust as well. Can you do this?"

"I don't know," Harm replied, considering the young man's words carefully. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Stop thinking so much," he responded softly. "I'm just trying to help you get through each day. Your best bet is to give yourself over to the fact that this is your fate. Accept it."

"I'm going to be here a very long time, aren't I?" Harm sighed.

"Until your master eventually either tires of you or gets bored with the game," replied the young man quietly. He straightened up and stretched. "He should be here soon. Is there anything you need before I go?"

"Uh ... clothes and food would be nice," Harm half-joked, knowing the request was pointless, yet lifting his head to watch the young man's reaction.

"Still got a sense of humor, I see," he smirked. "Sorry, no can do. Besides, food is strictly the decision of your master and is used as a reward at the end of the day ... you have to earn it. Anyway, thanks for not giving me a hard time this morning." The young man headed towards the door.

"You're welcome," answered Harm. "And thanks for the advice ... and for being human."

"Yeah, right," the sandy haired man laughed. "Don't let that get out."

"Your secret is safe with me," Harm said. He heard the door open and close and then he was alone. Harm sighed and closed his eyes. 'Stop thinking so much,' he thought, remembering the young man's words. 'Easier said than done,' he thought. He didn't want to think about surrendering his mind completely. He wondered how difficult that would be to do, or maybe it would make it all easier. Maybe that young man was right. He already felt fragile, close to being pushed over the edge. There was time to think later. Harm shifted his position slightly to his side, sprawling across the cot, with his right leg bent at the knee. He rested his head on his extended cuffed arm, using it as a makeshift pillow and curled his free arm against his chest. He was so tired; he couldn't help but doze off. After just a few minutes, his breathing became deep and regular. He was sound asleep.

***

Harm soundly sleeping was how the master found him a short while later. He had slipped into the room silently and stood at the foot of the cot, just watching him breathe. Harm looked so innocent and relaxed at this moment, oblivious to everything for the time being. The man smiled. He had observed the entire scene earlier from the adjoining room, through the one-way mirror. His assistant had done brilliantly in his convincing exchange with the gullible Navy lawyer. Nothing like a little 'good cop, bad cop' to ensure his boy's compliance. Harm seemed so willing to believe and trust the young man. Maybe it was time to take it to the next level.

The man took note of Harm's free arm, tucked in against his body, and the chain hanging loosely around his neck. His captive could have easily removed it, as well as gotten up to try to figure out the mechanism his wrist manacle was locked to. He hadn't tried either one and that was a very good sign.

Harm was dreaming. In the dream, he was agitated. He was convincing himself that no matter what else he had to do, he would never let go of the hatred and disgust for his captor. That would be the one thing no one could take away from him, even if he lost his sanity. He would have to hide it deep down inside, to block it out so that he could endure the anguish. He would bide his time.

Harm stirred slightly. His lips parted in a sigh. He curled his hand tighter under his chin and slid his right knee further up the mattress. His legs spread further apart and the older man got a glimpse of Harm's well-endowed assets. Just looking at Harm was making the man's cock grow hard. He stared at the broad shoulders, the smooth, taut muscles of his back, down to the curve of his ass. He wanted to claim that ass, but he would wait. He could not resist his urges however. Not only did he desire Harm's body, he wanted to own Harm's soul. He wished he could make Harm respond to him, to make him want and need what he had to give. He leaned over the handsome sleeping man, his hand reaching out to touch him. It was time for his slave to awaken.

The master lightly brushed his fingers over Harm's ass, barely touching his skin. There was no change in Harm's breathing, so he slid his hand down between Harm's legs and softly caressed the underside of his balls. Harm made a small mumbled sound, but did not rouse from his dream state. The man smiled and continued the delicate caresses across the hairless scrotal skin, then boldly moved his fingers to touch the smooth head of Harm's cock. He wanted to wrap his fingers around the shaft, but it was too difficult to reach without waking his captive, so he settled for stroking the underside of the sensitive tip. This time Harm let out a low groan and his cock twitched. The master felt the response and was encouraged. He had been concerned that the shocks to his boy's genitals may have caused permanent damage. He continued stroking and caressing the sensitive flesh, concentrating on the head and the underside of Harm's shaft. His teasing actions brought forth a moan from Harm's throat, as well as causing his manhood to grow and harden.

Suddenly, Harm jerked awake. He felt ... something ... and realized he was not alone. With a startled cry, he lifted his head, looking wildly around. The master kneeled on the cot, dropping one knee against the back of Harm's thigh to prevent Harm from closing his legs together.

"Don't ... move," the man growled, leaning over Harm's body. Harm froze and held his breath. In his panicked state, he immediately lost his erection. He could see the man out of the corner of his eye, hovering above him. One strong hand clamped onto Harm's left leg, holding it still, while the man's knee pushed against Harm's right thigh, bending the leg even closer to his body. This turned Harm slightly more onto his side, freeing his cock from being trapped under him, and giving the master better access to it. The man wrapped his hand around Harm's shaft and began to deftly stroke and pump Harm's limp member. Harm gasped. He didn't want this.

'Oh-god, no. This isn't happening,' he thought. "Please," he whispered, realizing with horror he had said the word aloud. He desperately wanted this to stop, but at least he didn't say 'no' out loud. Fear and disgust welled up in him, and it was enough to keep the sensations on his cock from feeling the least bit erotic. Harm prayed that his captor would give up soon.

"Dammit!" the man swore in frustration. He reluctantly let go of Harm's flaccid penis. He realized he'd have to be more patient. "It's only a matter of time, my sweet boy. I *will* make you come for me." He got up from the cot, his own massive erection aching with need.

"Sit up," he commanded. Harm jumped, rolling over and pulling himself up to a sitting position. He scooted to the far end of the cot, and sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. His captor had walked away, but was now coming back to him. Suddenly, loud, raucous rock music filled the room.

*I'm not doing great  
I feel like I'm dead  
Not thinking straight  
Inside my body, troubled, full of hate  
I had to let it out before it's too late...*

The master looked at Harm, sitting there, looking lost and forlorn, the fear evident in his eyes. The man stopped next to the cot, standing to Harm's left, Harm watching him warily. He reached out with his hand, and Harm flinched as if expecting to be struck. The man cupped Harm's chin with his hand.

"You're afraid of me." It was a simple statement of fact.

"Please don't hurt me anymore, master," pleaded Harm. "I'll be good."

"Hush now. As long as you don't do anything to piss me off, I won't hurt you," he said. "Do you believe me?"

"Uh … yes, master," Harm hoped he gave the correct response.

"Come here," the man patted the edge of the cot, and then grabbed Harm's hand, pulling him towards him. "Feet on the floor," he ordered. Harm scooted into position, right in front of his master. His wrist manacle clanked against the metal attachment on the wall as he moved. The man shoved Harm's knees apart and stepped between them. He brushed his thumb across Harm's lips, gazing down at him. "Do something useful with those lips of yours," he said. He unzipped, took out his thick, heavy cock, and thrust it at Harm's face.

*...Why won't it fade  
Outside I had to lie "I'm ok"  
I hope someday I'll stop getting pain  
I guess this is a lie, I have made

Deep Inside, It can hide!  
Feeling so lost and betrayed  
Why does this happen to me every time?  
Stuck in this place where I can't escape  
Screaming and clawing from deep inside*

Harm looked away. He needed to steel himself for this. He glanced over at the poles in the middle of the room. Images flashed through his mind, hanging suspended, being whipped, having his genitals shocked, the threats against Mac, the blackmail, the mind games, the violations and the pain, all the fucking pain. 'I can do this ... have to ... no choice ... no choice.'

"I need your mouth on me ... NOW," growled his master. Harm closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth. He impulsively brought his free hand up and wrapped his fingers around the base of his master's shaft, hoping for a tiny measure of control over how deep the man would thrust into his mouth. The stiff rod throbbed with need as Harm closed his lips around it. Harm went on autopilot, releasing himself from conscious thought, and losing himself in the sounds assaulting his ears.

*...Look, look at me now  
NOWWWWWWWW

Feeling so lost and betrayed  
Why does this happen to me every time?  
Stuck in this place, where I can't escape  
Screaming and clawing from deep inside

I CAN'T STAND ALL OF THIS FUCKING PAIN  
PLEASE GOD JUST GO AWAY  
PLEASE GOD JUST MAKE THE PAIN.....*

Harm wanted to finish this as quickly as possible. The master didn't thrust all that much yet, making Harm do all the work. He licked and suckled studiously on the head while pumping the shaft with his fist. His master seemed to like it hard and rough. The man grabbed a fistful of Harm's hair, his other hand tightly gripping Harm's shoulder. He began to thrust in earnest and Harm matched his rhythm.

"More!" he shouted. Harm sucked harder and tightened his grip. Finally, with one last hard slam, he grunted his release into the back of Harm's throat. Harm swallowed the bitter fluid reflexively, trying not to gag. Both of them were breathing hard, as the man slid his cock out of Harm's mouth. Harm coughed, trying to catch his breath. He could not get the taste out of his mouth and he sat there, hanging his head. The older man tucked his spent dick back into his khaki pants and sat down next to Harm to recover.

"Fuck ... (pant) ... that was ... (pant) ... not bad," said the master. Harm shot him a sideways glance, but remained silent. The man put his hand on Harm's shoulder. "You're learning, pretty boy." He stood up. "Now I'm gonna do something for you, since you're being such a good boy." Harm looked up at him, watching as the man released his wrist shackle from the wall. Harm rubbed his wrist along the edge of the cuff and waited.

"Get up, boy," the master commanded. Harm rose to his feet, and automatically locked his hands behind him. The leash attached to the chain around his neck hung loosely down his back. He wondered what the master had in store for him next. The man grinned at Harm's obedience. "You may go over to the sink and do whatever you need to do." Harm looked at him blankly. "Go on," the man urged. "Don't take too long." Harm scrambled to obey. Once at the sink, he opened the tap, gulping water into his mouth, then spitting it back out. Then he took a long drink and splashed the water on his face. He looked around, found a stack of folded washcloths, and took one to wipe his face. A bucket was near his feet and he decided he should probably take advantage of that opportunity as well. After relieving himself, he washed his hands with soap, drank several more handfuls of water, and dried his hands. Holding the cloth in his hand, he wondered what to do with it when he looked down and noticed his hand shaking. He dropped the damp cloth into the sink.

He glanced furtively over at the door, calculating how far it was, knowing he wouldn't get far. Even if he managed to make it out of the building, he had no idea where this place was. The risk far outweighed the slim chance of escape. A failed attempt would result in severe torture, but a successful escape would result in their going after Mac. The consequences would be too severe. Harm felt a wave of weakness come over him and he gripped the edges of the sink for support. He could not even make an attempt to get out of this hell and the realization devastated him. His resolve quickly crumbled. He felt utterly alone; his life didn't matter. He was nothing more than an animal, even worse, a thing. Harm collapsed as the first anguished wail tore from his throat, sinking down onto his knees in abject despair. He wrapped his arms around himself in a last ditch effort to keep from falling completely apart. He felt himself slipping away, so tired of fighting a losing battle. He pitched forward until his hands were on the floor as well, until he was huddled in a ball, shaking. Harm was breaking down and he let it consume him.

The master observed the entire scene. He had almost stepped forward when he saw Harm wavering and holding onto the sink. Now, as he watched Harm's collapse, he felt certain this was the moment he had been waiting for. Harm was on the verge of being broken. He had to handle this carefully.

The older man moved swiftly to Harm's side, yanking up on the leash. "Get up," he said, keeping his voice low and smooth. Harm was too weak and couldn't stand on his own, his chest heaving with sobs. The master grabbed Harm by the arm and tried to pull the taller man up, but he couldn't do it by himself. He turned and headed for the cot with Harm in tow, pulling him with the leash. Harm crawled to keep from being choked and dragged across the floor. His master sat on the mattress and held out his arms to Harm. "Come here, baby," he coaxed, patting the spot beside him. Harm's eyes were filled with tears. He crawled up and sat next to his captor. The man wrapped his arms around Harm and pulled the weeping man to his chest.

"Shhhhh, there, there," he spoke soothingly, gently patting Harm's back. "It's going to be all right now, baby. I'll take care of you." Harm leaned his head against his master's chest, piteous sobs wrenching from his body. The man hugged him tighter with both arms and Harm wailed louder. "Just let it all out, baby. Release yourself to me. You are mine to do with whatever I need. Accept your purpose in life." The man continued the verbal reinforcements, his voice a hypnotic drone.

Harm's tears continued to fall, soaking the man's shirt. It had been so difficult to surrender his mind, but now it was even harder *not* to give in. He felt a moment of shame for his lack of strength, but that too passed. It hurt too much to think anymore. All he felt was his master's warm embrace. Harm was ready to let go.

The man continued to soothe his weeping captive. He smiled with surprise when he felt Harm lean into him harder, his arm snaking around the man's waist, clinging to him for dear life. He pressed his cheek against the top of Harm's head, rubbing Harm's shoulder reassuringly. Comfort and reassurance; that was the key to the control of this man's mind.

"You need me as much as I want you, you know," stated the master. "I'll give you everything you need if you just give me the chance. I can make it good for you, sweet boy. You mean everything to me. I'll take such good care of you. All you have to do is please me, depend on me to care for you, and your life would be so simple. Trust me." Harm had been crying for several minutes and he quieted down to a whimper.

"You're mine," the man reinforced. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," Harm answered solemnly, not moving from his spot. His master released his hold on Harm, and Harm clung to him even tighter. The man smirked.

"Help me ..." whispered Harm, lifting his head to look into the man's eyes. Harm's eyes were bleary and red, the lids swollen. He had no tears left to shed.

"Help you?" the older man echoed questionably.

"... to be good," Harm said simply, then hung his head, trembling.

"You're doing fine," he said gently, touching Harm's chin to lift his face up. They were still sitting next to each other, very close together, eye to eye. The man studied Harm's child-like expression, but other than sadness, his eyes gave nothing away.

"Kiss me," commanded the master, their faces only inches apart. Harm leaned in ever so slowly, surrendering his will completely. When their lips touched, Harm closed his eyes and gave in to what his master wanted. Harm kept his arm wrapped around the man, relaxing against him. The master nibbled on Harm's lips with his own. When he broke contact, he cupped Harm's tear streaked face with both hands. He watched Harm's passive expression, lips parted, eyes closed.

"Nice," he said softly, caressing Harm's cheek. "You're my special boy." Harm opened his eyes with relief. His master was letting him know he was pleased. Harm gave him a small, shy smile and that made the man grin with delight. "You've made me very happy, baby." The man then gripped Harm's upper arms and pushed him away from him. Harm's expression changed to one of anxious confusion.

"Stay," he ordered as he stood up. The loss of contact somehow made Harm feel alone and afraid.

"Please ..." Harm begged. "... don't leave me." Realizing he spoke out of turn, he added, "I'm sorry, master." He looked away.

"Shhh, I'm not going anywhere," the man reassured him. Harm watched him walk over to the sink and run some water. He came back with a wet cloth and sat a few feet away from Harm, near the foot end of the cot. He patted his thigh and said, "Lie down on your side and put your head here." Harm leaned down, resting his cheek on his master's leg. Drawing his legs up, he curled into a fetal position with his arms curled against his chest. "Turn your face up a little," instructed the man. Harm shifted slightly, leaning back, and turning his head to look up at his captor. "Close your eyes." Harm did so and felt the cool folded cloth covering his puffy eyelids. His master held it in place with one hand while his other hand rubbed Harm's back in lazy circles.

"Mmmm ... feels good," sighed Harm, relaxing. He laid his hand on the man's thigh, tucking it under the side of his face. The master smiled down at him.

"Good boy," he said softly. Yeah, the man was very pleased with himself. They had definitely reached the next level. They stayed like that for a while as he watched Harm drift off to sleep.

***

It was early afternoon at JAG Headquarters and most staff members were out at lunch, leaving a skeleton crew to man the office. Petty Officer Jennifer Coates was at her desk when a man in a courier service uniform, jacket, gloves, ball cap, and sunglasses, walked into the bullpen with a large manila envelope and a clipboard.

"I have a package here for Admiral A.J. Chegwidden," he said nonchalantly. Jennifer looked up to see a sexy-looking, young man with thick dark hair tied in a ponytail standing in front of her. She flashed him a big smile, flirting a little.

"The Admiral is not in right now, but I'll make sure he gets it," she said, looking at the sealed envelope. A typed label containing the Admiral's name and the JAG address was affixed in the center. The word 'confidential' stamped in red capital letters across the front. There was no return address, but Jenn didn't notice.

"Sign here, please, line three," he said, sounding bored. He held the clipboard and a pen out to her and she signed her name. He handed her the stiff envelope. "It looks important. Make sure this goes directly to him," he said, not returning the smile.

"Yes, sir," said Coates. He turned and quickly headed for the elevator. "Uh...have a nice day," she called out after him. 'Sheez, he wasn't very friendly,' she thought. 'Sure had a cute butt, though.' Jenn took the envelope into Chegwidden's office and laid it on the center of his desk. She hadn't had lunch yet and was planning to take a quick break in the kitchen. She wanted to be sure the Admiral saw it, just in case she missed his arrival. Just as she returned to the bullpen, Chegwidden walked off the elevator. She snapped to attention.

"As you were," he said before she could get a word out. He glanced around the empty bullpen. "Why are you the only one here?" He looked irritated.

"Sir, I'm holding down the fort until the other Petty Officers return from lunch, which should be any minute now, sir," Coates said brightly. She was always so damn chipper he thought to himself. "Sir, there is an important looking package that was delivered two minutes ago. I took the liberty of putting it on your desk, sir."

"Thank you, Petty Officer, carry on." The Admiral headed to his office.

"Yes, sir," answered Coates.

After the door closed behind him, he hung up his pea coat and cover, then crossed to his desk and sat heavily in his chair. It had been a crappy day so far. He noticed the large envelope with confidential stamped across it. No return address. Nothing else out of the ordinary by its appearance. He tore open the end and peered inside at what looked like documents held together by a jumbo paper clip. He removed the contents. The top page appeared to be a plain short letter, typewritten. He started reading at the first line:

Dear Admiral Chegwidden:

Just thought you should know what one of your so-called upstanding Naval officers has been up to lately. It seems he has found something more stimulating than his career as a lawyer. This behavior must not be tolerated. I trust you will take appropriate action.

Signed,  
A concerned citizen

"What the hell?" the Admiral muttered out loud. He flipped the page over, knocking off the paper clip in the process. He found himself staring in disbelief at an eight by ten black and white photo of one Harmon Rabb ... with another man's dick in his mouth.

"OH ... MY ... GOD!" Chegwidden had never been as shocked as he was at this moment. This was the last thing he would have ever expected. He dropped the packet onto the desk and jumped up from his chair. He paced the room, rubbing his forehead, and then locked the door to his office. Back at his desk, he punched the intercom button. "Coates!" he hollered. When she responded, he said, "No phone calls, no interruptions, no exceptions." He cut off the intercom connection. He shook with fury as he glanced down at what lay on his desk, needing time to deal with this alone and think. Noticing there were more photos underneath the first one, he had to sit down again. He needed to figure out what he was dealing with. Scooping them up, he looked at each one briefly and laid them down one at a time, until they were lined up side by side.

"God damn it, Rabb!" he swore. "This is unbelievable." This lousy day had just gotten much, much worse. Chegwidden examined the envelope again, looking for clues and finding none. He read the letter again. He shook his head and studied each photo again. There were five altogether.

The one that was the first to stun him was a close up side view of Rabb's face. His eyes were closed, but it was definitely him, and it was obvious what he was doing. All that could be seen of the unidentifiable man on the receiving end of the blowjob was his lower torso with his pants undone.

The second photo was another close up of Rabb's face; this time angled more from the front. Both his mouth and eyes were open here, and a cock with a fist wrapped around it an inch from his lips was clearly in the picture as well. White streaks on Rabb's face appeared to be globs of semen.

On to number three. Again, taken from the front, it showed Rabb's face in the edge of the foreground, and he appeared to be lying prone. One could see past his shoulders, down his back, the slope of his bare buttocks. There appeared to be another person directly behind Rabb's ass. However, all that could be seen was a man's chest and belly, covered by a sweatshirt, and a pair of masculine hands gripping Rabb's hips.

Photo number four was a more graphic close up of the same scene. It was clear that anal sex was taking place. It showed a man's torso from the side, wearing the same sweatshirt as the previous picture, his penis buried into an exposed ass. Rabb's face was not in this photo, but it looked like the same naked body as the other picture except from a different angle. All that could be seen, from this side and slightly from behind view, were the bare buttocks, the upper part of a thigh, hands holding onto the hips, and a glimpse of a scrotum hanging between the legs. That, and of course, the fact that someone's cock was in his ass. The face down position of the body was the same as the other photo, leading to the assumption that this too was Rabb.

Finally, the last photo, which was taken from the side, showed Rabb face down again, similar to the previous two shots. He could possibly be on his hands and knees, but hard to tell as his arms and legs were not in range of the picture. No, he appeared to be lying across some type of support, held up by what appeared to be chains on either side of him. Someone, face unseen, was leaning over Rabb's back, his hand wrapped around Rabb's penis. Rabb's head was hanging down, so the camera captured an upside down profile of his face.

Chegwidden leaned back in his chair, disgusted. He felt physically ill. He thought he knew his senior officer better than that. This couldn't be real. Something was not right. He needed to know more, needed help to decide what to do with this information, but who to trust with something so damaging, so volatile. He gathered everything up, stuffed it all back into the envelope and locked it up in his secured files. The Admiral buzzed Coates on the intercom.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get Agent Clayton Webb on the phone for me," he ordered. "It's urgent."

"Aye-aye, sir."

A few minutes later, the intercom buzzed.

"Sir, I have Mr. Webb on line two," announced Jennifer.

"Thank you, Coates," replied Chegwidden. He pushed the appropriate buttons to transfer from one connection to the other.

"Webb," Chegwidden said simply.

"Hello, Admiral."

"I need to see you a.s.a.p."

"My plate is quite full today, Admiral."

"It's regarding Rabb's disappearance."

"I see. My office or yours?" Webb knew about the missing Commander from a conversation with Mac.

"Mine. I've received information of a highly sensitive nature, that I do not want to be walking around with."

"Fine. The earliest I can get out of here is 1800 hours."

"I'll wait."

"Admiral, I'll do my best to get there when I can." Webb sensed the urgency in Chegwidden's voice. This was obviously something important, as well as a bit mysterious, and he was intrigued.

"Thanks, Webb. I'd appreciate that." The Admiral hung up the phone. It would actually be better this way. They would have complete privacy. He didn't want any suspicions regarding his meeting with Webb. He buzzed Jenn's desk again.

"Petty Officer Coates, please inform the entire staff that the offices will be secured no later than 1800 hours today. No one is to be working late. I want all personnel out by that time."

"Yes, sir."

Chegwidden leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed his face with his hands. Then he rested his forehead on the heels of his palms and sat there, unmoving. "Christ, what a fucking disaster."

***

As soon as the light haired young man entered the windowless room, he saw his boss sitting on the cot with Harm curled up beside him, asleep. Harm's head was on his lap, his hand draped over the man's thigh as well. The older man motioned to be quiet.

"Chief, I came to check on you," the young man whispered. "How long have you been here like this?"

"I don't know," the master whispered back. "You know we don't wear watches in this room. What time is it?"

The younger man didn't have a watch on either. "It's mid-afternoon."

"Then I've been here awhile. I didn't want to wake him," the man whispered, looking down at Harm. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"Hey Chief, you're not falling for him, are ya?" the young man joked.

"You know how I feel," whispered the older man, as he glared at his assistant. "Did that errand get taken care of?"

"Yeah, it's done," replied the young man.

"Good," said the master. He smiled, thinking about his deception. He would continue to torture Harmon Rabb with the threat of using those photos. Rabb would have no idea they were already in the hands of his Commanding Officer. He could decide later on when to choose to share that knowledge with his submissive captive. He leaned back, putting both hands on the mattress behind him, trying to stretch out the kinks. "Shit, I've been sitting here too long. I'm so stiff, I can barely move."

Harm heard voices and started to come to awareness. He remembered where he was, and stayed still, not letting on that he was awake. He began to listen to the remaining low, barely audible conversation between his master and another person's whispered voice.

"What can I do for you?" asked the young man. He stood in front of his boss and looked down at the curled up, naked man. Harm's eyes were closed and his head was resting on the boss's thigh. The washcloth had fallen off his eyes at some point and landed on the mattress. The young man noticed it and picked it up. It was barely damp.

"I could really use a drink," the boss muttered.

"I'll go get it. Double shot of Jack, straight up?" As if he had to ask, he thought. His boss nodded.

"Also, I'll want something special fixed for this evening." The man explained further. "We had a huge breakthrough today. After one more test, I hope to be able to amply reward my boy tonight." He ran his hand over Harm's head, ruffling his short hair and Harm stirred. "We'll discuss this in detail later."

"Okay, Chief. I'll be right back with that drink," he acknowledged and left. Harm recognized the voice as that of the light haired man. He opened his eyes, blinking, his eyes feeling scratchy and puffy. He tipped his head back and found himself looking up into the face of his master.

"Hey," the man said softly, placing a hand along Harm's cheek.

"I must have fallen asleep," Harm murmured, looking confused.

"You did, and that's okay," his master reassured him, petting his face. Harm nuzzled into the hand more and the man smiled down at him. "Can you sit up for me now?" he asked.

"I think so," Harm nodded. He wondered why his master was being so nice to him. He would do anything for him, to continue this ... caring. His master cared for him, he thought. His mind was blank of any other thoughts. Harm felt a calm acceptance and that was easier than feeling anything else. He stretched and pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling extremely weak. He rubbed at his eyes.

The light haired man returned, carrying a large thick glass, and handed it to his boss. He noticed Harm was sitting up and just staring at him. The boss downed nearly a third of the contents in one gulp.

"Leave us alone for awhile," he said in a serious tone.

"Yes, sir," answered his assistant. "I'll check back later." He left.

The master finally stood up and stretched, groaning. He noticed Harm staring at him. He held his glass out to Harm.

"Want some?" the man grinned.

"Only if you want me to, master," replied Harm. The man stepped over to him and held the edge of the glass to Harm's lips, tipping it up. Harm took a swallow of the warm, brown liquid. It burned going down. "Mmm ... good. Bourbon?"

"Good guess, pretty boy" his master laughed. He sat back down at the foot of the cot, turning to face Harm, and took another gulp from the glass. "Now lie down for me," he said, looking serious. Harm wanted to obey immediately, but he didn't know how the man wanted him.

"Which way, master?" Harm asked anxiously.

"Oh, on your back, feet toward me," instructed the man. He'd have to remember to be more specific with his slave. Harm complied, lying back until his head hit the mattress. He stretched out his long legs so that his feet reached the corner of the cot, behind where his master was seated. The man reached over and grabbed the ankle nearest him. "Bend your knee." He pulled Harm's foot around him and dropped it off the edge of the cot so that his foot touched the floor. Harm found his legs spread-eagled, with his master sitting between them. The man finished off the contents in his glass and set it on the floor.

"Listen and follow my instructions carefully and I promise I won't hurt you. Do everything I tell you, even though it may be very difficult," the master explained as he rubbed Harm's thigh. "Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Harm shivered. "I'm scared," he whispered.

"You'll be fine. I know you can do this for me," he soothed. He slid his hand up between Harm's legs and cupped his balls. Harm flinched slightly and closed his eyes. His master caressed him intimately, his fingers moving up Harm's shaft, then wrapping around the ultra sensitive head. As the man stroked him, he spoke in a low, hypnotic tone.

"Come on, baby, I want you to come for me ... Relax ... let go ... I'll make it good for you ... You do want to please me, don't you?" he droned.

"Yes ..." Harm sighed. He was receiving conflicting messages to his brain. 'This is wrong. No, don't think about it.' He would do anything and he could do this. He had to please his master. He couldn't fail. 'Concentrate!' It would be all right to let go. He would suffer worse not to. Harm tried to float away, the sensations on his cock flooding his senses. It began to feel good and he focused on that.

The master felt Harm's cock twitch as he stroked the entire length of him. He increased the pressure and Harm's manhood slowly grew firm. "Yes, that's it," he hissed.

The sudden sound of the man's voice thoroughly distracted Harm from his reverie, and his erection flagged. The older man knew now what tactic he'd have to use next. He stopped stroking and Harm opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry ... I ... tried," Harm said guiltily. He looked as though he was about to cry.

"I know, I know. It's okay, baby, my fault," he said softly, once again caressing Harm's balls. "Tell me how to get you off. Come for me." The master's voice became firmer, commanding. "You cannot deny me the pleasure of watching you come. Show me what works for you, what gets you hot."

"How? ..." Harm wasn't sure he understood.

"I have to spell everything out for you, don't I," the man said sarcastically. "Masturbate for me." Harm was mortified. He felt the warm flush on his face. "Jerk off like your life depends on it ... because it does."

Harm knew he'd have to do this, no matter how difficult. There was no question. He could not dare incur his master's wrath. His hesitation made the man impatient.

"Would some music help?" the man smirked.

"Yes ... master ... that might be best." Harm did not want the only sounds in the room to be of him getting himself off. Any noise, even that of harsh rock music, would make it easier for him. The man got up, went over to the table, clicked on a track on the CD player, and returned, carrying a tube. He sat back down right between Harm's legs. The tube contained a special lubricant that warmed to the touch and got even warmer with friction. He squirted some directly onto Harm's cock.

"I suggest you get started now," warned the master. "If I have to stay here all night, you're gonna come, one way or another." He leaned back, determined not to distract Harm with touching or talking. He knew Harm would do what he needed to do to accomplish his goal. If he had to escape into a fantasy, so be it. He would let Harm have that. As long as Harm proved his submission by jerking off in his presence, his point would be made.

*You think you're smart  
You're not, it's plain to see  
That you want me to fall off  
It's killing me  
Let's see, you've got the gall  
Come take it all  
The jury is coming  
Coming to tear me apart  
All this bitching and moaning  
Come on it's on...*

Harm closed his eyes. He couldn't bear those evil, steely eyes watching him. Rhythmic, hard, driving music filled the room and he let himself be swept away by the pounding beat. Harm wrapped his fingers around his shaft, sliding his hand up and down the length, sliding the lube all around. The stuff felt warm and tingly on his sensitive skin and he focused all his attention onto his cock. The more he stroked, the warmer it felt. After a couple of minutes, he was sporting a full, impressive sized erection. Harm's face was strained with concentration. The master watched with fascination as Harm kept alternating between pumping himself firmly and teasing himself with light, feathery touches. Harm brought his other hand down, his fingers feathering across his sac. After a few more minutes, his rock hard, throbbing member ached with the need for release. Harm pumped in earnest now, blocking out all else other than the tension boiling within. His breath quickened, lips parted, and his tongue would flick out intermittently to lick his lips.

The master was surprised and turned on by the display unfolding in front of him. It was taking longer than he expected for the object of his obsession to reach climax. He wondered if Harm's difficulty was physical or just a lack of concentration, although he seemed to be trying hard enough. Perhaps, his brainwashing was not quite thorough enough for Harm to release his inhibitions without question, to please his master unconditionally. The man found himself hoping for Harm to succeed, rather than fail.

*...Come on, it’s on... Come on, it’s on  
Come on, it’s on... Come on, it’s on  
I'm trapped in this world  
Lonely and fading  
Heart broke and waiting  
For you to come  
We are stuck in this world  
That's not meant for me... For me...*

Finally, Harm seemed to be getting closer. It had been a long, intense build up; his focus marred by the distraction of being watched and forced to do this to himself. His forehead was covered with beads of sweat. As he pulled on his aching cock, he felt the familiar tightening in his groin. It wouldn't be long now, and he lost himself in the sensations. The exquisite, desperate need for release took over mind and body. Unconsciously, he brought one knee up, spreading his legs wider to give himself better access. Using his left hand, he slid one finger behind his scrotum, caressing his highly sensitive perineum. Harm let out a long groan.

It was his master's undoing. The unexpected sensuality of this intriguing man had a heady effect on him, and he was filled with the desire to claim and possess him completely. Harm was too close to the edge to have any awareness of the man's presence. His rhythm quickened and he punished his cock with a rough pounding. The master knew exactly when Harm reached the point of no return and he was entranced. Harm threw his head back and moaned loudly. The older man couldn't resist reaching forward, grabbing the base of Harm's shaft, knocking Harm's hand loose as he stroked. Harm's head came up off the mattress, eyes open and wild.

"Please! ... I need to ... ohhh! ... don't stop! ... please!" Harm was frantic with need. His back arched and he bucked up into his master's hand.

"Tell me to make you come!" growled the man. He pumped Harm's cock quick and hard.

"Please ... let me come ... please ... I'm gonna ... oh-god! ... master!" Harm begged. Within a few seconds he was there, at last, falling over the edge in an explosive climax. His ass came up off the mattress as he bucked. He moaned his release as his seed spewed forth, his master's hand continuing to milk his pulsing member.

"Yes, that's it, baby, come for your master," the man crooned, finally letting go of Harm's spent manhood. Harm's entire body shuddered. His head fell back and he was panting heavily. As physically taxing as this experience had been for him, it was even more emotionally draining, and he was exhausted. As he recovered, he draped his arm across his eyes and a couple of sobs caught in his throat.

"You did very well, my sweet boy," encouraged the man, as he got up. "I'm very proud of you."

"You are?" Harm peeked out from under his arm.

"Yes, I know that it was a lot to ask of you, but it was important that you do what I say and you did.

"So I pleased you then, master?" Harm needed reassurance.

"Yeah, baby, I'm very happy with you."

"I'm glad," Harm responded with a tiny smile. He was so relieved that he had done well. Even though he had to deal with the embarrassment, the shame of what he had just done, this was not quite as awful as the other punishments that inflicted great pain. His master washed up at the sink, turned off the music that had auto-repeated several times by now, and returned with a warm, wet washcloth. He dropped it on Harm's belly.

"Clean yourself up." Harm sat up and wiped himself. His semen was everywhere and his cock was sticky from drying lube. After he cleaned up as much as he could, he held the rag, wondering what to do next. "Sink. Go," said his master. Harm got up carefully and made his way over to it. Running the water, he first took a drink, then rinsed out the washcloth, and with it he finished cleaning off his belly, genitals, and thighs. He rinsed the cloth out again and laid it on the edge of the basin. After he took a leak in the bucket, he washed his hands again. The master shook his head with amusement at this. Harm turned around and caught his master standing behind him, with his hands on his hips and a strange expression on his face.

"Are you quite through?" he asked facetiously.

"Yes, master," Harm bowed his head, looking down to the floor.

The master raised his arm and pointed to the cot. "Back to your bed, boy." He tried to sound stern, but it was hard not to laugh. Harm hightailed it back, leash trailing behind him still, and lay down. The collar and leash were part of him now and he paid no attention to them. He felt very sleepy and rolled over onto his side. Harm found out that was apparently the wrong thing to do.

"NO! This is not time for sleeping!" bellowed his master. Harm jumped. "Get down on the floor!" Harm rolled off the cot and hit the hard floor, landing on his hands and knees.

"I'm sorry, master! ... I didn't know ... didn't mean it ... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harm pleaded. He had ruined his master's good mood, he thought. 'Oh-god, I fucked up.' He was beside himself with fear. "Please ... forgive me," he cried. Harm then hung his head, deciding to shut up. He waited.

The master was enjoying this thoroughly. He liked seeing the frightened man on all fours, begging, completely subjugated. The feeling of power and control was a rush for him. It had been an excellent day. He walked over and stood next to where Harm knelt. Harm would not know that the man was smiling.

"Stay right here and wait for me," he said gently, running his fingers through Harm's hair. He felt Harm quivering. "I'm going to see about dinner, but I'll be back. You were an exceptionally good boy today and you deserve your reward. Trust me, you'll like it." Harm merely nodded. His master walked away, and nearly tripped over the empty glass he had set on the floor earlier. He took it with him as he left the room, locking the door.

Harm sighed with relief. His master wasn't that angry, after all. He did not move from his spot, even though the pain in his knees from kneeling on the hard cement floor was distracting. That was okay, he thought. It would keep him awake. The pain didn't matter to Harm. As long as he did what his master wanted, nothing else mattered. He would remain on his hands and knees and wait. This he could do. Pain meant nothing. The only important thing was keeping his master happy. Harm wondered how long it would take for his master to return, and then he allowed his mind to drift.

***

All was quiet at JAG Headquarters. The minimum off-hours lighting illuminated the bullpen, casting an eerie glow over the area. Light shone through the open door from the Admiral's office. Chegwidden was standing at the window, looking out into the dark, cold November night. He checked his watch yet again. 1845 hours.

"Shit," he swore softly. He had been stressed and preoccupied since this afternoon. He wanted to get this meeting with Clayton Webb over with, and at the same time he didn't want to be having this meeting at all. He was dreading this, hoping it wasn't a mistake to trust the CIA spook, but he felt he had no choice. There was no one else, not for something so...

Chegwidden thought he heard the elevator, and turned away from the window. He returned to his desk, looking at the doorway. A moment later Webb appeared.

"Admiral," Webb nodded.

"Come in," Chegwidden said abruptly, crossing to the door, closing and locking it. That action was not lost on Webb, his keen powers of observation always on alert.

"What's this about Rabb?" Webb got right to the point, watching the Admiral's face to see if he gave anything away. The man looked somewhat grim.

"I think you'll want to sit down," Chegwidden sounded ominous. He motioned to a chair in front of his desk and Webb took his seat.

"Look, Admiral, I know Rabb has been missing for a couple of days. Mac told me. Do you have any information on his whereabouts?" Webb had found Rabb's mysterious disappearance to be most curious. He certainly hoped nothing bad had happened to him.

"I need your help, Webb. What I'm about to show you is quite shocking," Chegwidden said, unlocking his file drawer and pulling out the large envelope. "I trust anything discussed here will be kept strictly between us."

"You don't have to ask, Admiral. Keeping secrets is what I do," Webb smirked. "I was never even here." He watched the Admiral remove the contents from the envelope and hand the packet of materials to him across the desk.

"This was hand delivered by courier today around 1300 hours, addressed to me."

Webb took the information and read the letter on top, then moved it out of the way. When he saw the first photograph, his eyes grew wide and he gasped with shock. He quickly rifled through the remaining photos.

"Damn!" Webb exclaimed, shaking his head. "This is truly ... disturbing." He looked at the Admiral. "I sure as hell never would have pegged Rabb for someone who ... uh ... had a secret life."

"I don't care what those photos show, I refuse to believe that it's true!" Chegwidden's voice shook with anger. "This can't be Rabb. It's just not him."

"In what way do you think I can help? You think these photos are faked?" Webb asked, trying to figure out where the Admiral was going with this.

"No, I doubt it could be that simple. I've been trying to make sense of all this, but I'm missing something here. Something just isn't right and I need your help to figure out what."

"Okay. Let me see the envelope for starters. Hmm, of course. No return address, probably a bunch of fingerprints belonging to everyone other than the person who sent it, and it was specifically addressed to you. What courier company delivered it?"

"Petty Officer Coates signed for it. She didn't catch the name, but she could describe the uniform and what the guy looked like."

"We can follow up on that. Now, from what this letter says, we can determine that the person who wrote it is trying to get the Commander in trouble."

"Yeah, trying to ruin his career, his entire life," Chegwidden said disgustedly.

"So, this is for revenge. That means it's someone who has a grudge against him," said Webb. "I'm sure Rabb must have a few enemies. The problem would be how to narrow it down."

The Admiral glared at Webb. "There's no way the Commander would knowingly allow such pictures to be taken of him in ...in that type of situation, and I don't see how anyone could get those shots without his knowledge."

Webb was staring at the five photos again, laying each one out on the Admiral's desk. "I'm thinking the same thing."

"That this was staged somehow?"

Webb shook his head. "Not exactly. Worse. When you compare these pictures, what jumps out at you the most?"

The Admiral didn't need to look at the photos again. He had studied them at length. "His eyes. I look into those eyes and I see pain."

"...And fear," Webb added. "The person behind this would have us believe that Rabb is participating in a gay sex encounter, with the intent on destroying his reputation."

Chegwidden had a feeling Webb was about to confirm his suspicions. "You're thinking the same thing I'm thinking, that all this is totally against his will," he prompted.

"Yes, Admiral," agreed Webb, standing up. He was intently examining each photo, comparing every detail, searching for more clues. "I'm afraid that what we're seeing here is Commander Rabb being raped." Webb said the word aloud.

"I believe that wholeheartedly," Chegwidden said sadly. "But what if we're the only two people who can see that? People who don't know him as well as we do, what would it look like to them? I don't want to turn these photos over to the investigators, to total strangers, if I don't have to. They're so..."

"... Horrible ... and misleading as well," finished Webb. He paused to collect his thoughts. "At this point, I don't see how these would actually help to find him. No one else needs to see this." His eyes met the Admiral's and the Admiral nodded in agreement. Webb stared back at the lined up pictures, scanning each one, his analytical mind in full gear.

"What else?" Chegwidden asked simply.

"The photographer was very careful with his angles, not giving much away," Webb explained. "I see very little background, and it doesn't tell me anything. Notice how you can't see Rabb's hands or feet in any of the shots. The angle of his upper arms to his shoulders leads me to believe he is restrained. Whatever he's lying on, it's holding him up. I don't think he is kneeling on the floor, or even a bed. The man in front of Rabb's face is not the same man that is ...uh... raping him, different clothing for one thing. There are either two or three perpetrators, depending on whether these two men alternated operating the camera or a third person acted as the cameraman. Rabb looks terrified for the most part, but in this one his eyes look vacant. He's either in shock, or possibly drugged." Webb handed photo number two to the Admiral, then picked up the last three, holding each one under the desk lamp. "Ah-ha."

"What do you see?" asked Chegwidden.

"It's barely discernible, especially with these photos being black and white, but look at Rabb's shoulders and buttocks." Webb handed them to the Admiral. "Do you see the faint pattern of lines and marks? I believe he's been whipped, as well."

Chegwidden put on his reading glasses and studied the photos again. Then he threw them down on the desk, took off the glasses, and leaned back in his chair. "Christ, Webb, you're good. I knew there was a reason for calling you."

"Don't give me too much credit, Admiral," Webb snorted. "I just happen to be a bit more familiar with captivity and torture."

"I meant to ask, how have you been doing?" Chegwidden wondered sincerely.

"Better," Webb said shortly. He didn't want to talk about the Paraguay incident, and changed the subject back to the case at hand. "I think we can assume that Rabb was abducted and is still being held."

"You think he's alive then?"

"No reason not to believe that, Admiral. Although we're probably dealing with a psychopath, he wouldn't go through this much effort just to kill him. I think it's more personal, he wants Rabb to suffer."

"This has Clark Palmer written all over it," Chegwidden blurted out, as the implication dawned on him.

"I'll look into that possibility. It's not much, but it's a lead. If there is any connection at all to Palmer, I'll find it. However, we need to come up with a list of anyone with an axe to grind. I need to take all this with me, including the envelope." Chegwidden looked as if he was about to protest. "I'll handle this personally, strictly unofficial. No one else will see this information," assured Webb.

"Not even Mac," warned the Admiral. "I don't want her to know about any of this, not yet."

"You're probably right," agreed Webb. "This would only upset her. She's worried enough."

"It's bad enough that the two of us have seen these photos, Webb. If or when Rabb comes back to us, I don't want him to ever know they existed. I don't know if he could live with that."

"If Rabb does get through this, he's a stronger man than any of us ever realized," said Webb. "By the way, who is officially investigating his disappearance?"

"An investigator from NCIS and one from the local police. Lt. Roberts is coordinating their efforts and doing additional research. They haven't come up with any leads yet."

"I'll need to get everything they have so far. I'll contact the Lieutenant in the morning," stated Webb, as he slid the materials into the envelope. He opened his briefcase, placed the envelope inside, and locked it up. "Looks like I'm going back to Langley."

"Do me a favor, Webb. Destroy the evidence when you're done with it."

"All right," Webb acknowledged.

"Do you think Rabb will be found?" asked Chegwidden.

"I honestly don't know," Webb replied thoughtfully. "We don't know who we're dealing with, so I suppose it depends on whether or not they succeed in getting what they want from him. We have to hope they let him go, or maybe he'll manage to escape. With briefcase in hand, he turned for the door. "Keep me informed." Chegwidden walked him to the door and opened it.

"Thanks, Webb, I appreciate your help with this matter." He extended his hand to the agent.

"Thanks for trusting me, Admiral," Webb said, returning the handshake. "It means a lot to me. I'll be in touch." With that, he strode purposefully through the darkened bullpen to the elevator, and was gone.

Admiral Chegwidden returned to stand at the window. He was filled with sorrow and worry. Sighing heavily, he stared out into the night for a long time.

***

Harm huddled on the cement floor, his teeth chattering. The cold seeped into his joints, adding to the tremendous pain radiating from his knees. His mind, along with the rest of his body, felt numb. He had remained up on his hands and knees for as long as he could. Then he went down onto his elbows and forearms, folding his legs underneath himself and hunkered down into a ball. He was technically still on all fours, he reasoned. Harm had no idea how much time passed while in that position, just that it felt like a long time. He was buck naked, cold and in pain.

Harm heard the door open and he lifted his head. His master walked in first, followed by the light haired man, who was carrying a tray. The master seemed pleasantly surprised that his slave had not moved from his spot next to the cot. Harm raised himself slowly to his original hands and knees position, groaning. Pain was etched on his face and he was shivering. His master patted him on the head. The young man set the tray on the table.

"You may get up now, boy," ordered the master. Harm tried, but his legs weren't cooperating. He struggled, his arm flailing against the cot, trying to lean on it to pull himself up.

"Owww ... I can't," Harm said, flustered. His master motioned to his assistant.

"Give me a hand with him," the older man instructed. They got on either side of Harm and pulled him up by his arms until he managed to stand. His legs buckled and he leaned heavily against his master, throwing all three of them off balance.

"I'm sorry, master!" Harm squeaked out.

"Shhh, you'll be all right," encouraged his master. They propelled him towards the table. Harm limped badly. A chair was pulled out and they eased him down. Once he was seated, he rubbed furiously at his legs and knees, trying to get some circulation back. His kneecaps hurt the worst, but that was quickly forgotten when his master pushed the tray in front of him.

"This vegetable soup should help you feel better." Harm was surprised to see a large bowl filled with broth, with generous amounts of noodles and chunks of vegetables. Steam wafted up from the hot bowl and the aroma made Harm's mouth water.

"This smells really good," Harm said timidly, as he blinked back a tear. The young man produced a spoon, handing it to his boss.

"You are not allowed to handle any pointy utensils, so either I feed you, or you make do without," the master explained.

"Okay," Harm nodded. He touched the bowl with his fingers. It didn't burn him, so he cupped his hands around the bowl. He looked up at his master for permission to eat. The man leaned down to Harm and patted him on the shoulder.

"Enjoy, baby," he said, walking away from the table to leave Harm alone with his prize. Harm picked up the bowl. It warmed his hands and he slurped at the soup eagerly. The master and his assistant ignored Harm, conversing as though he wasn't even in the room.

"It's supposed to get real cold tonight, Chief, according to the news," said the young assistant, "and the heat's not working down here."

"I'm aware of that," the older man said, sipping from the drink in his hand. "I don't want my boy to freeze to death."

"I could have a space heater brought in," the young man offered.

"No, I have safety issues with that," he shook his head. "Shit, it is cold in here."

"What are the options, Chief?" asked the assistant.

"Well, either we bring down extra blankets and hope his body heat keeps him warm enough," he lowered his voice, "or I take him upstairs with me."

"I guess hypothermia really is an issue, but do you think it's wise to move him out of this room?"

"I know, I know. It's too soon," the master glanced over at Harm. "But it's gonna be a long winter, many cold nights, so sometimes plans change. I guess I have to learn to be flexible," he smirked, making his decision.

"What do you need me to do?" asked the young man.

"Go find your partner and bring him here. I have jobs for both of you," the master said, downing what was left of his drink

"Okay, Chief," he answered and left.

The master walked over to Harm, who was sitting quietly, still holding the empty bowl for warmth. Although Harm appeared to have been thoroughly occupied with his food and was now playing with the bowl, he had listened carefully to everything they discussed.

"How are you doing, my boy?" he asked, touching Harm's shoulder. Harm put the bowl on the tray.

"I'm all done," Harm smiled up at his master. "It was really good, master. Thank you," he said gratefully. The nourishment eased the emptiness clawing at his gut, at least for now.

"Are you still hungry?"

Harm shrugged. "I'm okay ... master."

"Don't tell me you don't have room for dessert," the man laughed, grinning. Harm looked at him, questioning. He could never tell when his master was joking, teasing him. The man's frequent cruelty kept Harm feeling vulnerable and sensitive. Harm assumed this was another trick and the look on his face betrayed his disappointed and fragile state. He looked away, not wanting his master to see the hurt. They heard the door open, and the two younger men walked in.

"Good. You're here," the master stated, walking over to them. He addressed the dark haired man. "You, stay here and keep guard. Just make sure my boy stays put for now." The older man turned to the light haired man. "You go prepare the surprise we talked about, and get me another drink." He motioned to the table. "Take that tray with you. We'll have to wait until tomorrow to solve the heating problem. In the meantime, I'll get the supplies so that we can make the necessary preparations for tonight. I'll be back in just a few minutes, so let's get to it."

Harm ended up alone with the muscular dark haired man, which made him feel uneasy. He felt this one was a loose cannon and not to be trusted. Harm watched him warily, as the man moved about, working at the sink. The young man wore jeans, a thick, beige pullover sweater and work boots. His long, brunette hair hung loose about his shoulders instead of the usual ponytail. He stalked over to the table with a sponge and spray bottle of cleaning solution. Harm was sitting near the end of the table, his hands on his knees, rubbing them. He watched the man wipe down the tabletop, pushing any items left there to the far back corner.

"Get out of my way, boy," he scowled at Harm, as he moved towards that end of the table.

"Um ... I'm not supposed to move from this chair," Harm responded.

"Yeah, whatever," he said curtly, spraying the table in front of Harm, intentionally getting the mist on him, then leaning across and wiping it off the table. Harm leaned back as far as he could, and he shot the man a hateful, withering glare. Laughing, the man turned away, walked over to the cot and quickly wiped down the plastic mattress cover. He returned to the sink to finish up there, frequently shooting Harm a sideways glance. Harm kept his eye on the young man as well. He busied himself with trying to warm his skin, methodically rubbing his legs, then breathing into his cupped hands, rubbing his arms, and so on. Harm's feet felt numb, the cold seeping in from the hard floor. The metal shackles around his ankles and wrists didn't help his circulation either, and he sighed with frustration. Harm was momentarily fascinated, studying his wrist cuffs, wondering how on earth they might open.

When the door opened, it was the master who arrived first, carrying a large bundle.

"Give me a hand here," he ordered the dark haired man. "I found some old camping gear in a closet." He dropped a heavy down filled sleeping bag on the floor, along with two thick blankets and a flannel covered pillow. He handed a folded up flannel sheet to his assistant and told him to cover the mattress with it. While the young man made up the cot, the master went towards Harm, holding something gray balled up in his hand. Harm looked relieved to see him.

"Hey, boy," he greeted Harm, pulling up the other chair and sitting down. "Turn and face me."  
Harm obeyed so that they were facing each other. "Give me your foot." Harm raised one eyebrow, feeling uncertain, but he complied. Briefly, the realization hit him that one of the things that frightened him about this unpredictable man, was never knowing what to expect. He lifted one leg and stretched it towards his master's waiting hands. The master gripped Harm's foot with both hands and lowered it so that the heel rested on the chair.

"Jesus, you're as cold as ice," the master muttered, sounding concerned. Harm noticed his foot was wedged between his master's legs, almost against his groin, and the man's hands were massaging it. A look of surprise crossed Harm's face and the master chuckled. "Well, it is the warmest part of the body, and we can't have your toes freezing off." He stopped rubbing and picked up one of the objects that he had laid on his lap.

Harm was stunned. His master was putting a thick, gray, woolen sock on his foot, pulling the ribbed cuff up over the ankle shackle. He pushed Harm's foot away and Harm lowered it back to the floor.

"Other foot," the man ordered. Harm brought it up to have his master repeat the procedure. He rubbed firmly, eliciting a grimace from his compliant slave. He finished putting on the second sock. "How's that?"

"Better, thanks," Harm smiled, gratefully.

"Didn't I tell you I'd take good care of you?"

"Yes, master," Harm replied, not sure how he could show his appreciation.

"Ah ... you can move your foot now," the man grinned at Harm. Harm hadn't been paying attention and he was embarrassed, his foot hastily retreating from his master's crotch. The master got up from the chair to check on the remaining preparations, and saw the cot was ready. The sleeping bag had been laid out, partially unzipped, with a pillow at one end and the two extra blankets unfolded across the foot end of the cot. The light haired assistant came into the room. He was carrying a small tray with several items on it, and he set it on the table.

"Will there be anything else, Chief?" the young man asked. The master looked at the tray.

"No, this is perfect. You're both done for tonight. Regular routine in the morning, guys, and get the heat fixed," he dismissed them.

Harm and his master stared at each other. Regardless of how Harm felt inside, he kept his face a blank mask, revealing nothing. He watched the man move toward the table. The master picked up a plastic cup off the tray, and held it up to show to Harm. In it were a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

"These are for your use. I'll put them by the sink for you," he explained as he walked over to set the cup on the shelf. Harm looked at the other items on the tray. He recognized the master's glass filled with what he assumed to be alcohol. There was also a mug, which the man picked up, handing it to Harm. "Something sweet for my sweet boy," he smiled. "Careful, it's still hot." Harm gingerly took the mug with both hands and looked into it. A layer of whipped cream covered the hot liquid.

"Wow," Harm glanced up at his master. He certainly didn't expect this. The evening seemed to be full of surprises. He carefully took a small sip. He tasted chocolate and something else. When he looked up, he had a white cream mustache over his lip, which he licked off with his tongue.

"Do you like it?" the man smiled at Harm. He had his own glass in his hand and sat down in the other chair in front of Harm.

"Yes, it's ... different," Harm's expression was curious.

"I had a shot of Peppermint Schnapps added to the cocoa," he explained. "Cheers." The man clinked his glass against Harm's mug and took a swallow of his drink. He watched silently as Harm sipped from the mug, clutching it in both hands. After a few moments, Harm seemed to relax a little, leaning against the back of the chair.

"This is really delicious, master. Thank you," Harm spoke tentatively. He felt the warmth travel down his throat and settle in his stomach. The master had shown him kindness; perhaps even caring, and that had Harm totally bewildered. The man merely smiled at Harm, obviously not in a talkative mood. Harm watched his master slug down his drink, and thought the man looked weary. Observing the bloodshot eyes, the red nose and ruddy, flushed complexion, Harm wondered how drunk his captor was. He filed away that tiny piece of information, hopefully for future use. Harm was well aware that for the time being, however, the master had all the power and he had none. He had to continue to play his master's perverted, sadistic game.

When Harm finished the treat, he set the mug on the table, not knowing what else to do. The master was finished as well and stood up, looking down at Harm's solemn face. "Time to call it a day," the man announced. "You may go get ready for bed." Harm hurried over to the sink to take care of business and wash up. He saved brushing his teeth for last, and it felt so good to finally have his mouth feel clean. He knew he should show his gratitude for the kind gestures his master bestowed on him, but he didn't know how. When Harm turned, he found the man standing next to the cot, waiting for him, and Harm walked over to him.

"Get in. I'll tuck you in," the master chuckled, holding the sleeping bag open. Harm felt nervous. He wasn't sure what his master wanted from him next, but he went ahead and climbed into the bedding and laid his head back against the pillow. He held his arms out over his head and the man shook his head. "No, baby, no restraints." The master sat next to Harm, pulling the soft, thick covering up over his chest. "Sorry about the heating problem, I won't let you freeze to death." Harm lowered his arms to his chest. The man finished zipping up the sleeping bag around him, tucking the top edge under Harm's chin. He caressed Harm's face and Harm spontaneously nuzzled his cheek further into his master's palm. This gesture always seemed to please the master.

"Thank you, master," Harm sighed, his eyes shining.

"I'm trusting you to be a good boy," the master said.

"I'll be good," promised Harm.

"I'll know if you aren't," warned the master, "so don't go wandering around. You are not to leave this bed."

Harm nodded in acknowledgement. He would not disobey. Of that, he had no doubt. Correct behavior was rewarded. Wrong behavior was punished. It was all so simple really, he decided. Harm noticed the man leaning in closer to his face, and realized he was going to be kissed again.

The master claimed Harm's mouth with his own, his tongue flicking across Harm's lips seeking entrance. Harm closed his eyes, parted his lips and sighed into his master's mouth. He was being kissed, not just by a man, but by his tormentor, whom he despised. None of that mattered anymore, not his past life, which was over, or his future, which did not exist. This was his reality now; it was all he had. He no longer cared about the implications; his sole function was to please his master. His own needs were unimportant. He would do whatever was required to survive. Harm allowed his thoughts to drift away, and he focused only on the sensations of the tongue exploring his mouth and the taste of bourbon. His master sucked on Harm's tongue, and then retreated to capture his lips again. Harm was too submissive to return the exploration of the man's mouth with his own tongue, so he lay passively until the master released him.

"Tomorrow you'll be able to earn your keep again, pretty boy," the master remarked, as he abruptly got up off the cot. He covered Harm with one of the extra blankets that were laid across the foot of the cot, adding an extra layer of weight and warmth over him. With those cryptic last words, he left, turning off the light and locking the door behind him.

With the darkness enveloping Harm, he turned onto his side and snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon of bedding, pulling the covers up over his head. His feet were warmed by the heavy socks, his belly had stopped growling, he wasn't shackled to anything, and he had gotten through the entire day without being fucked in the ass. That alone made today an easier day than the previous one, he thought. However, breaking down and being forced to masturbate in front of his master had been extremely difficult, but he had gotten through that as well. Harm was sure tomorrow would be an even greater challenge, and he had no choice but to face whatever it entailed. Right now, the soft warmth enveloping him was a comfort to enjoy while it lasted, and he was emotionally drained, so he blocked out all the unpleasant thoughts and managed to fall asleep.

***

The chilly, overcast morning brought news to JAG Headquarters. Lieutenant Roberts had just gotten off the telephone with the police detective, who gave him an update on Rabb's case. Rabb's SUV had been found, still parked at the bar. As it had been there for several days, it was reported abandoned by the owner of the bar. The bartender had been interviewed, and he identified a photo of the Commander as being a patron. He told the detective that he remembered Rabb had appeared inebriated, although he only had a few beers. He was pretty sure that it was Friday evening, between ten and eleven o'clock. The place had been crowded, he had been busy, and so he hadn't paid attention to the two men that Rabb left with. He couldn't remember what they looked like, so wasn't much help with providing a description of them.

The detective informed the Lieutenant that a full APB had been issued on Commander Rabb and that the case had been upgraded from a simple missing persons report to abduction. He advised Roberts to prepare for the possibility that Rabb had met with foul play.

Bud then received a call from Clayton Webb, learning that Webb was now in the loop and lending whatever assistance he could to help find Commander Rabb. He relayed all the information he had so far to Webb. He also called the NCIS investigator regarding the latest information. They would send out a forensics team to examine Rabb's vehicle and the surrounding area before it was to be towed away.

Petty Officer Coates had also been questioned, which turned out not to be very productive. They were unable to match up the uniform she described to any area courier services, so it was more than likely fake. Because of the ball cap and sunglasses, she was unable to give anything more than a general description of the young man's features. Jennifer felt horrible for not being able to be of more help.

Bud requested to see the Admiral next. After he apprised his Commanding Officer of the latest updates, he went to the kitchen and met up with Mac and Sturgis. Bud told them together and they all shared their concerns. The news trickled down through the remainder of the JAG staff. In spite of latest information, no one was any closer to actually finding Commander Rabb, and that was terribly disconcerting.

It had taken several attempts to finally reach Harm's mother, Trish, and his stepfather, Frank Burnett, in California. As Rabb's Commanding Officer, Admiral Chegwidden felt duty-bound to personally notify them of their son's disappearance. He assured them everything possible was being done to locate him, and that he would keep them informed of any updates or change of status. They agreed with some ambivalence to delay flying across the country until there was a more definite break in the case.

A pall fell over JAG Headquarters, as everyone feared the worst.

***

Harm was curled up and completely buried under the covers when the master's two associates entered the cold basement room. Fortunately, the heating problem had been an easy one to solve. Between the two of them, they managed to get it working again without outside help. It was now turned up, but it would take some time before the room temperature would reach an acceptable level.

The dark haired man looked down at the lump on the cot. As he yanked the outer blanket off, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Get the fuck up! Do it now!" With a yelp, Harm shot upright to a sitting position, tangled in the zipped up sleeping bag. The young man let loose peals of laughter as he watched Harm, blinking and disoriented, scrambling to free himself from the confinement of the bedding.

The light haired man walked over with the pail and set it down next to the cot. "Stand up," he ordered. "When you're done, get down on the floor." Harm complied, seething with anger at the taunting from the dark haired one. As soon as he assumed position on his hands and knees, the nasty young man yanked on the leash, and the chain tightened around Harm's neck. Harm yelped again, hoping the light haired man would intervene on his behalf. No such luck.

"You have to obey us, just like you do your master, or we'll let him know you're not being cooperative," remarked the dark haired man, with an evil sneer. He pulled on the leash again, and Harm crawled behind him. They stopped when they reached the four poles in the middle of the room, and an awful realization dawned on Harm. This day was not starting well at all, he thought. The man yanked on the leash to pull Harm forward into position and Harm resisted.

"No! ... No, please, don't ... not this ... please!" Harm begged, looking around wildly. He made eye contact with the sandy haired man, his eyes pleading. "I don't understand ... I've been good," Harm's voice broke.

"It's necessary," the light haired man said patiently. "It won't do you any good to fight it." It took both the young men to get Harm centered over the harness.

"Yeah, you have to go through this every morning, so get used to it," the dark haired man jeered. He put his foot on Harm's back and pushed him down flat so that his torso lay across the sling. "Now, quit squirming." Harm lay face down on the floor, defeated. He heard the sound of something mechanical and the contraption began to move, hoisting him into the air. When he was in position, it stopped, and Harm's head, arms, and legs hung limply. With a man on either side of him, both of his arms were pulled straight out to the sides and the wrist cuffs fastened to each pole. They moved simultaneously to Harm's backside and, each pulling a leg apart, they removed his socks and fastened his ankle cuffs to the poles as well. The collar and leash was slipped off over his head and set aside. Harm felt as though he was back at square one, and it made him despondent.

Harm heard water running and suspected what was coming next. What he didn't expect was getting scrubbed down with soap from head to toe. Both men were methodical and efficient, but the dark haired man was particularly rough. He took great delight in harshly manhandling Harm's genitalia, causing Harm to groan in pain.

"Gotta get ya smelling pretty so your master can stand to be near ya," sniggered the cruel young man. The other guy hooked up the hose to the faucet and started the water again. In a few moments, the water cascaded over Harm's body, rinsing off the soap. At least this time the water was warm, he thought. As the water dripped off his wet skin, however, the chilly air made him start shivering. Finally, Harm endured the crude enema, and while he recovered, the floor was cleaned and everything was put away.

Harm hung suspended, trembling, with his eyes closed. He vaguely heard the activities going on around him, but paid little attention, as he was too wet and cold to care. He suddenly felt fingers caressing his ass, and he jerked his head up, trying to see who was behind him. Harm thought it might be his master, until he heard the voice.

"So ... boy ... how does it feel to know you are nothing more than your master's *fuck toy*?" sneered the dark haired man. He moved around Harm, so that they could glare at each other. Harm felt utter contempt for this dangerous psychopath. He wanted to respond with a clever retort, but couldn't think of one and kept silent. Unfortunately, Harm believed the man was right. He had to admit to himself that this was his reality, and the truth hurt.

The door opened. Harm heard his master's voice at last.

"Why has my boy not been dried off?" the older man bellowed.

"Sorry, hadn't gotten to that yet," answered the sandy haired assistant, holding a large towel. The master snatched it from him.

"Never mind, I'll do it myself," he muttered. He began to rub the towel over Harm's body. "Mmmm, you smell good, baby."

"Your fuck toy fought us this morning, Chief," the dark haired man announced.

"Oh? Is that so?" The master looked to the other young man for confirmation, still drying Harm off.

"He resisted a little, didn't want to get on the sling," the light haired man added. "Nothing we couldn't handle." He glared at the big-mouthed young man. The master stood in front of Harm.

"Well, is that true, pretty boy?" he asked.

"Yes, master," Harm replied, not looking up. "I'm sorry."

"So, you were being difficult." It was not a question.

Harm nodded. "I couldn't face being back in this ... *thing*," Harm said, his voice shaking with fear.

The master laughed. Harm hadn't even tried to deny or talk his way out of this. "You are so damned honest, I'll give you that. What do you think your punishment should be?"

Harm was caught off guard by this question. He was just trying to hold himself together, and couldn't think of anything to say, so he merely shrugged.

The master turned to the light haired man and asked, "How much did he resist?"

"Not much, really ... just struggled a bit," the young man replied, reasonably. Harm was thankful that his master did not ask for his dark haired assistant's opinion.

The master thought it over for a moment. "Look at me, boy," he addressed Harm. Harm lifted his head. "Your misbehavior must be punished, even if only to serve as a reminder. Therefore, your sentence is one dozen strokes with a paddle on your ass. Do you find this punishment adequate to fit the crime?"

"Yes, master," Harm said anxiously. There was nothing else he could say. He thought it couldn't be that bad, he could get through this.

"Fine, sentence will be carried out immediately." The master gestured to his assistants. "Bring me the paddle and a chair," he instructed. They did so, and the older man sat directly in front of Harm's face. He handed the paddle to the light haired man. "You go first. Each of you will administer six strokes. I will supervise and keep count."

The master addressed Harm, "You can be brave, or scream, or cry like a baby. It makes no difference to me, but you will keep eye contact with me the entire time."

Harm quivered, more frightened than he thought he would be. 'Damn.' This was going to be harder than he originally thought. The light haired man took his position behind Harm's ass. The master nodded to him, and he brought the paddle down onto Harm's right cheek with a solid whack.

"One." Harm flinched. 'Okay, that stung.' He breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flared. The second firm whack landed on his left cheek.

"Two." Harm kept his gaze locked onto his master's eyes, his teeth clenched, and his lips drawn tightly together. 'Breathe, just breathe.' The next strike came harder, back to his right cheek.

"Three." Harm hissed through his teeth. 'Okay, at least he's alternating sides, which means the next one will hit on the left.' Swack! 'Yup.'

"Four." Both of Harm's ass cheeks were turning pink. The fifth stroke was harder still.

"Five." Harm tensed all over, fists clenched, and a grimace on his face. 'Shit, that hurt.' The next strike landed on the left and stung just as bad.

"Six." Harm gasped sharply, then let his breath out slowly. He was halfway there, but he knew the worst was yet to come. The light haired man had concentrated on the fleshiest part of Harm's buttocks, and even with only three hits on each one, his cheeks throbbed with pain. Harm was sure the dark haired man would not be nearly as reasonable.

The two young men exchanged places, and the paddle was passed from one to the other. Harm's intense blue eyes were still locked on his master's cold gray ones. Six to go and it would be over. He was determined to be brave and strong. He could do this.

The dark haired man was going to enjoy this. He wound up and aimed the paddle dead center to the back of Harm's ass with an intensity that made the previous strikes seem like mild swats by comparison.

"Seven." Harm's face registered shock at the sharp pain radiating from his behind, and he realized he had been holding his breath. 'Fuck, five more of those to go.' He braced himself for the next one, and it came with a loud smack.

"Eight." The sizzling pain on top of the already abused flesh took Harm's breath away, and caused his eyes to water. Harm's skin turned from pink to scarlet. He wasn't going to be able to sit down for a week. 'Four more, four more.' He was keeping his own count and trying to catch his breath, when the next furious smack landed on the same spot again.

"Nine." The pain was stunning in its intensity, causing a guttural groan to escape from Harm's throat. 'So much for not crying out.' His eyes brimmed with tears of pain as his master watched him suffer. When Harm blinked, a tear from each eye slid down his cheeks. The master reached up and wiped the tears with his thumbs. Harm stifled a sob and he resolved not to scream. 'Oh-god, three to go.' Another bruising whack.

"Ten." A long pathetic moan came out of Harm's open mouth. His ass was on fire, the burning no longer easing up between blows. He couldn't hold his head up any longer, and broke eye contact with his master. "No, boy, look up. Focus on me," the man commanded, pulling Harm's head back up and cupping Harm's face in his hands. Every time a tear fell, his master wiped it away. 'Two more, almost there.' Harm was close to losing it.

The dark haired young man had only two chances left to make Harm scream. He put all his fury behind his next stroke, and no one would know if his aim was accidental or intentional. The large paddle landed lower than the previous blows, across the seat of Harm's ass. Although his buttocks took the brunt of the strike, there was enough force behind it to also smack against Harm's perineum and the underside of his scrotum.

"Eleven." Every muscle on Harm's body clenched, as he released a high pitched yowl that pierced through the room, followed by twitching and rapid gulps of air. His face contorted with rage and agony as he screamed. Glaring into his master's eyes, Harm went over the edge and didn't hold back.

"FUCK! ... My balls ... oohhhhgod ... he hit my fucking balls! ... make him stop! ... please ... no more ... make it stop ... oh, fuck! ... my nuts are smashed ... god! ... no more ... no more ... please let me die ... let me fucking die now ... I can't take this anymore! ... Oowwww ... I'm gonna be sick!" Harm carried on until his voice was hoarse and he ran out of steam, reduced to incoherent whimpering.

"Stop!" the master shouted, jumping to his feet, as the dark haired man swung back to deliver his final blow. The light haired man ran over with a pail. He gave the older man a grim look of alarm that confirmed he had witnessed the brutality of the last strike, and shook his head. The master walked around behind Harm to inspect. Harm's entire ass was red and bruised. The man's fingers traced lightly over the inflamed skin, which was hot to the touch. Harm shuddered and moaned from the slightest contact.

"You're out of control. Get the hell out of here," he told the dark haired man.

"What? I thought you wanted him to scream," the young man replied sullenly.

"Go home," the master ordered. This had gotten out of hand and he let it happen. If only Harm had screamed sooner, instead of being brave. He was so occupied with watching Harm's face that he did not realize the amount of damage that was inflicted. He would deal with that hothead later.

"Get me an ice pack," he commanded, and the light haired assistant hurried out. Harm hung limply, weak and nauseated, and he dry heaved, spitting saliva into the bucket. Not only was his ass burning, a throbbing pain pulsed through his balls and perineum as well. Harm was filled with anger at the unfairness of his misery. This was beyond what the punishment should have entailed. He thought his master would be whipping his butt, and he would have accepted that, not the brutal beating from that other sick bastard. Harm was too enraged to remain silent.

"Why?" Harm demanded to know. He looked around, trying to make eye contact with his captor. "Why did you let him do this to me? I didn't deserve this ... not this ... it's so unfair ... just because I ... hesitated ... fuck ... it hurts so bad ... I ... trusted you," Harm's voice broke as he tried to choke back a sob. "Shit." He hung his head in despair. He did not want to cry. His master was moving around him, releasing all four manacles from the poles.

"My associate is a loose cannon. The situation got out of hand. That mistake won't happen again," the master explained, sorrowfully. He stopped in front of Harm and tipped his chin up. Harm's face was streaked with tears, but his deep blue eyes flashed momentarily with hatred.

Harm did not expect to hear his master admit to being wrong. It was as close to an apology as he was going to get. He caught himself wondering if the man really did feel bad about the amount of pain inflicted on him. The master seemed to be searching Harm's eyes, but Harm's blank mask was back in place, revealing nothing.

"You were very brave, my boy," he crooned, ignoring Harm's earlier tirade. "You just hang on, and we'll get you down." Harm was lowered to the floor, where he sprawled on his stomach. He didn't even have the strength to kneel. Harm had given up. The light haired assistant returned with towels, ice packs and a cup full of ice chips.

"He hasn't had any water yet this morning," the young man explained to his boss. He looked at Harm's unmoving, prone form on the floor. "Is he all right?"

"He'll be okay," the older man said. "Help me get him to the cot." Between the two of them, they managed to pull Harm up to his feet, half carried him, and deposited him face down onto the cot, which had been stripped earlier. The master looked down at Harm sprawled bonelessly across the stark white mattress, his red and splotchy ass standing out colorfully, and he sighed. "Dammit, there's gonna be some major bruising."

They attended to Harm without further discussion. The room was becoming a more comfortable temperature, at least. Harm was fairly out of it, but his discomfort kept him awake. The master slid a dry towel under Harm's hips. He made a cold compress out of a wet towel with an ice pack tucked in the middle of it and carefully laid it across the abused cheeks of Harm's ass. Harm flinched as the contact burned on his ultra sensitive skin. He let out a long, low moan and shuddered all over, as the cold seeped into his bruised flesh.

The master was hopeful that the icy cold compress would give a numbing relief, as well as minimize the worst of the bruising. He sat at one side and ran his hands over Harm's back and shoulders, massaging gently in an effort to distract Harm from his pain. His assistant was kneeling at the opposite side, near Harm's head. Harm had his face turned toward him, as he lay motionless. The young man was feeding him ice chips from the cup, slipping the pieces between Harm's lips. Harm let them dissolve in his mouth.

"More," Harm whispered hoarsely. He raised his head slightly, with effort, and the light haired man tipped the cup to Harm's lips. Harm slurped at the melting slush until he got a mouthful and sucked on it before swallowing. "So thirsty ... please," he pleaded. The young man got up and glanced at his boss. The older man nodded back at him. The young man went and found a straw, added water to the cup, and took it back to Harm. He guided the straw into Harm's mouth and Harm took several sips. Harm mumbled something, but it was incomprehensible.

The master lifted the compress and examined Harm's bottom. After readjusting the ice pack, he turned the towel over and gently covered the area again. Harm shivered and exhaled raggedly. The young man retrieved the pair of bulky winter socks and put them back on Harm's feet. Even thought Harm's ass felt hot, the rest of his body was chilly. Taking the two blankets that were folded up, they wrapped one around Harm's shoulders as he lay still, and covered his legs with the other. Knowing Harm was not going to move anytime soon, they prepared to leave.

"Check on that compress every fifteen minutes. I'll be back later," the master said to his assistant. Today was not going according to his plan. He would turn the paddling incident into a lesson for Harm, however, and in the process he would still get what he wanted from him. This was merely a delay, and he could deal with that.

Harm heard them leave. He had a few minutes alone and he let his mind wander. The two of them were definitely fussing over him. He wondered how bad the damage was, becoming curious about what his butt must look like. It sure hurt like hell, though the cold was helping to take the edge off. He remained perfectly still, the slightest movement of his skin shifting against the compress caused the burning sensation to intensify. Harm still did not understand how this had happened. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for anything that happened to him in this place. If the punishment was this severe for his small infraction, he couldn't imagine what would happen if he made a major mistake. He would have to be very careful, to do whatever he could to avoid more pain and suffering. Harm had tried to behave properly for his master, and he decided he would just have to pay better attention. His every action was under close scrutiny, and the pressure of that was overwhelming. He had let his rage and hatred briefly take over, but now the fear was once again overriding everything else in his confused mind.

It hurt to even think anymore, so Harm's attention focused back on his throbbing ass. He heard the door open, assuming it would be the light haired young man coming to check on him.

The assistant leaned over Harm and removed the compress. He noticed Harm's eyes were open, but he did not move. Harm could see it was the younger man out of the corner of his eye. He examined the damage to Harm's ass, touching the skin to check temperature, and Harm gasped. After checking the ice pack and refolding the compress, he laid it back over Harm's exposed ass cheeks, making him groan.

"How bad?" Harm asked.

"Your ass is turning lovely shades of purple," the young man remarked.

"I want to see," said Harm.

"Maybe later," he replied firmly. It was obviously not up for discussion. "Gotta keep this on for awhile longer. More water?"

"Okay," Harm sighed. 'Sure, why not?' he thought. When the cup and straw was brought to him, he rose up on his elbows, drank from it, and then flopped back down to the mattress. The young man turned, clicked the music system on, and then left without another word.

*Paralyzed. Nothing's getting through to me.  
Hypnotized from all my surroundings.  
I wanna be something I could never be.  
I wanna say things that I could never say.  
Yeah, I'm gonna do it again!  
I'm gonna do it again!  
I'm gonna do it again!  
Sick of my life. I'm tired of everything in my life  
Dragged down. Rubbing my face in the ground.  
No time for the undecided.  
I wanna know why I've always felt alone,  
And I wanna love. Why am I untouchable  
Yeah, I'm gonna do it again!  
I'm gonna do it again!  
I'm gonna do it again!  
Sick of my life. I'm tired of everything in my life.  
I never wanted to be sick of my life.  
I'm tired of everything in my life  
Sick of my life. I'm tired of everything in my life.  
I never wanted to be sick of my life.  
I'm tired of everything in my life*

The music stopped on its own. As the minutes passed, Harm tried to think of things other than this room, his predicament, and his pain. He wondered what the people he cared about were doing, if anyone notified his mother of his disappearance, and if Mac thought about him at all. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, missing her, even though he had no right to. She had made it quite clear that they would *never* work out. He assumed she had moved on with Webb, but that didn't keep Harm from missing what they used to have together, whatever that was. Maybe everyone thought he was dead. Having these thoughts only made him feel hopeless, so he tried to not think at all. The only thing he felt was despair.

Harm tried to doze off, but was unsuccessful. When he heard the door open again, he opened his eyes and waited. He couldn't see who was behind him without turning his head. He felt the cold wet towel being lifted off his buttocks, and then the blankets were removed as well. When Harm felt warm fingers tickle lightly over his excruciatingly sensitive skin, he whimpered.

"Just making sure your ass doesn't end up with frostbite." It was the cold, hard voice of his master. He moved to where Harm could see him and Harm lifted his head. "I understand you want to see how you look. That can be arranged." Harm's expression was one of alarm and fear. "It's okay. Come. Take my hand." Harm reached up timidly, as his master extended his hand. The older man gripped Harm's forearm, so Harm did the same, and in one smooth motion he pulled Harm to his feet. Leading the way, the master walked across the room, holding onto Harm's hand. Harm padded behind him until they stopped in front of the table. The master stepped aside and Harm saw his reflection in the large mirror on the wall. He stood, transfixed in his nakedness, shaken by what he saw.

'God, I look like shit,' Harm thought, as he took it all in. He was pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked ill, anguished, haunted. Harm began to tremble.

"Turn around," commanded his master. Harm turned slowly, and then stared over his shoulder into the mirror. The cheeks of his ass were a deep pink, the color of a bad sunburn, with areas of bruising ranging from dark crimson to purple. Harm's eyes widened with shock.

"Looks painful," the master smirked.

"Very," said Harm, looking away from his reflection and settling his gaze upon the older man.

"So, my boy, what lesson have you learned today?" his master asked pointedly.

Harm was at a loss for words, afraid of saying too much, afraid to be truthful. The more he talked, the greater the potential for making mistakes. He did not want to anger his master. "I'm confused. Help me understand why I was beaten so badly." Harm's voice shook. He felt anxious, but some of the earlier anger and frustration was creeping back in, as well.

"Ah, you're still angry with me," the master observed.

Harm shook his head. 'Oh fuck, this isn't going well,' he thought. He started feeling weak again, as his master scrutinized him.

"You must realize by now that every action has a consequence," the man began. "You misbehaved, you were punished."

"But you are my master. Why didn't *you* give me my punishment?" Harm asked in a small voice.

"You are to obey my associates just as you obey me. Since it was them you were difficult with, they had every right to carry out your sentence," the master explained patiently.

Harm's eyes flashed darkly and his lip quivered. "That one guy has had it in for me. He overstepped the limits."

"Yes, he did and he will be dealt with," the master said gently. Harm was again surprised. His master was actually agreeing with him. He relaxed a little. "You went off on quite a tirade earlier," the master continued.

"Um ... I was upset ... out of my mind with pain," Harm said nervously, his anxiety level rising again. He was feeling dizzy. "I'm sorry, master."

"No need to apologize for that, boy," said the man. "You said you trusted me, and apparently that trust has been broken. For that, I am sorry." He gripped Harm's shoulders and gazed intently into Harm's eyes. Harm hung his head and sagged against his master, his fragile mental state crumbling. The older man held him in a comforting embrace and smiled. He was enjoying having Harm's naked body against him, and he was becoming aroused. He steered Harm over to the cot. "Let's just move on from here." Harm pulled himself together and nodded in acknowledgement.

"I guess it's safe to say you do not want to sit down," the master said, watching for Harm's reaction. Harm gave him a funny look and rolled his eyes, as if to say 'that's obvious.' The master laughed heartily.

"Gee, I'm so glad I amuse you," Harm said facetiously. He failed to find the humor in his condition. His master stopped laughing and gave him a serious look.

"Don't worry," the man said sardonically. "I want you on your hands and knees anyway."  
The master stood at the foot of the cot, pointing. "Get onto the bed and face this way." Once Harm was in position, his master walked around him to the side. He ran his fingers up one ass cheek, then down the other. Harm hissed, gritting his teeth. Even the lightest caress brought fire to his sensitized nerve endings and his entire body shivered.

"Who does this ass belong to?" the master asked.

"You, master," Harm replied, dejectedly.

"That's right, pretty boy. I'll have it whenever I want it, regardless of the uncomfortable predicament you find yourself in." He continued, "Your disobedience almost ruined my plan of the day. However, I've decided to take your ass anyway." Harm hung his head in defeat. His master returned to stand in front of him, unzipping his pants.

"Time to earn your keep. Get me hard," he growled. Harm lifted his head and his master thrust his growing manhood at Harm's face. Harm opened his mouth and took in nearly half of the man's cock, sucking on it. The master kept his own fist around the base and thrust rhythmically between Harm's lips. After a few minutes, his member was rock hard and weeping with pre-cum. He suddenly pulled out of Harm's mouth, and walked around him.

"Get your knees apart," he ordered. Harm obeyed and spread his legs. The master kneeled on the mattress behind Harm's ass. He covered his cock with lube, and then spread Harm's cheeks with his thumbs, pressing into his skin. Harm jerked forward with a yelp at the contact. "Am I gonna have to shackle you?" The voice was dark and threatening.

"No, master," Harm answered, shaking. He braced himself for more pain. His master inserted a lube-covered finger into Harm's tightly puckered hole, working it in and out. Harm groaned as the man added a second finger, stretching him. He was about to be fucked, and he wasn't even restrained.

"Come on, sweet boy, relax," he coaxed. "Open up for me ... give your ass to me willingly or I will take it by force." Harm forced himself to unclench, giving in to his fate completely.

"Yeah, baby, that's it," the man hissed, feeling Harm's muscles let go. He withdrew his fingers and quickly replaced them with his stiff cock, pushing into Harm's body until he was deep inside. Harm nearly pitched forward, but braced himself and managed to remain in place. He focused on his breathing to bear the pain. The master's hands gripped Harm at his waist and began to thrust slowly, leaning over his ass. With every push, the man's body rubbed against Harm's abused backside, the contact agonizing. With every thrust, Harm moaned, exciting his master more.

'Hurry up and fucking finish already,' Harm thought desperately. He couldn't hold himself up any longer, the master's pumping rocking him back and forth. Harm went down on his elbows, resting his forehead on the mattress, giving up.

"Oh, yes, baby, that's so good," the master urged. The changed angle of Harm's body drove him deeper and he increased his pace, grunting with each thrust.

Harm couldn't tell which was worse, the pain from the master slapping against his ass on each stroke, or the pain of the rigid cock filling him. Though tears of pain flowed, he refused to cry, choking down the sobs that threatened to overcome him. Harm groaned as the pain of his bruised ass overrode the pain from the cock pounding inside him.

"Oohhhh fuck! ... It hurts so much!" Harm hollered, his fingers digging into the mattress. He had to fight the urge to pull away.

"Soon, sweet boy, soon!" his master panted. Harm desperately wanted this to end now. He didn't even feel the thrusting cock inside anymore, only the flames of pain flashing across his behind. Harm's surrender was total, whether deliberate or not, as he suddenly pushed backward, his ass bearing down on his master's throbbing manhood. The man's cock was buried to the hilt. Harm would do anything to finish the man off quickly, so he clenched his anal muscles tightly.

"Fuck, yeah ... oh, that's good," the master urged. "So tight." It only took a few more strokes. Harm matched his master, thrust for thrust, moan for moan. "Ahh fuck, I'm gonna come," the master announced, wrapping his arms around Harm's chest. Finally, the man grunted his release, emptying himself into Harm. Harm's face and arms were pressed flat against the mattress, with the added weight of his master lying across his back; his knees were about to buckle underneath him. Both of them were breathing heavily, as his master pulled out and sat back, leaning against the wall. As soon as Harm was free from the man's body, he collapsed onto his stomach.

"Dang, you're getting the hang of it, boy," the master said with surprise, grinning. "I think I'll keep you."

Harm's breath was coming in hiccups. 'Not gonna cry, not gonna cry.' Harm had nothing left, and he was losing himself in the hysteria rising within him. It was all so absurd, so unreal. The master had won. 'God, I've lost my mind,' was Harm's last rational thought, as he began laughing insanely.

The master heard Harm hiccupping, trying to catch his breath. He could see Harm shaking, and at first he thought Harm was sobbing. He listened and realized it sounded more like laughter.

"Stop that," the man commanded, getting up and tucking his dick back into his pants. Harm had become completely hysterical. The master pulled on Harm's shoulder, turning him to his side so he could see his face. Harm's eyes were glazed over; he had retreated deep inside himself. He did not see the master, just kept hiccupping and giggling like a madman. The master became concerned that Harm had gone over the deep end. This final break could be severe and permanent, and he was afraid he'd be left with an insane or catatonic, drooling subject. He had to snap Harm out of it.

"Come on now, get a grip, boy," he said firmly. "Look at me." No response. "Harm! Snap to! Harmon Rabb, Junior!" More high-pitched hysterical laughter. The master shook Harm. Still no reaction. "Damn it!" He slapped Harm across the face, and then yanked him up to a sitting position. The shock of pain from those two actions must have cut through the haze of Harm's delirium. Harm screamed, incoherent wails of anguish. The master sat down and threw his arms around him, and Harm collapsed against his chest. He hugged Harm tightly to him, and abruptly the wails were reduced to whimpers. Harm was finally calming down, his face buried against his master's collarbone. The older man leaned his cheek against Harm's and whispered soothing shushing sounds into his ear. Harm responded with a few more hiccups, then he took a deep, shaky breath and leaned heavily into his master's comforting embrace.

Harm was sliding down his master's chest, trying to fold himself into the fetal position. Rather than trying to hold them both up, the man pulled himself out from under Harm's weight. Harm tried to cling to him as he moved away, momentarily frantic.

"It's okay, everything's gonna be okay. I'm right here," soothed the master. Harm lay curled up on his side, looking around in a confused haze for his master. The older man stretched out behind him on the narrow cot, drawing Harm against him. Harm was shaking all over. The master wrapped his arm around him, his hand stroking Harm's bare chest. Harm nuzzled into his embrace, wrapping both hands around his master's forearm to hold it tight against him. He gave himself over to his delusion of being cared for, to the man who controlled his mind.

"Yours," Harm sighed. The master smiled against Harm's neck.

"Mine," he said into Harm's ear. The older man laid his leg over Harm's, and they spooned together quietly for several minutes. Harm felt enveloped in a warm, protective cocoon, tucked against his master. The man almost didn't hear the words Harm whispered next.

"Don't let me go."

***

Several hours later, the master and his light haired young assistant were standing on the other side of the one way mirror, looking into the room where Harm lay on the cot. The older man had managed to extricate himself from Harm's grip when Harm finally dozed off. However, in doing so, Harm had awoken, and he had become slightly agitated when his master left the room. At least, he was no longer hysterical. The master had gone to take a shower and clean up. When he returned later, he remembered the last words Harm had spoken, wondering which way to interpret them. Harm either meant not to let go of his embrace, or not to release him from his captivity. The man would ponder that some more. They watched Harm now, still lying on his side, knees drawn up, and arms crossing his chest, hugging himself. His eyes were open, but unfocused.

"How is he?" asked the young man.

"I don't know. I think I broke him," replied the master, with a sigh. He looked worried.

"But wasn't that the point?" the young man asked, confused.

"I'm afraid I might have gone too far," he admitted. "I may have pushed him completely over the edge. If that's the case, he'd be useless to me."

"You gonna set him free?" the young man wondered.

"No. It's way too soon. I'm not letting him go. Let's wait and see." The older man had seen the local evening news on television. The station had broadcast a short segment about the disappearance of one Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior, naval officer, and lawyer for the Judge Advocate General Corps. A picture of him in uniform was displayed on the screen, with a request from the authorities for any information concerning the case. They didn't have many details, just speculation that foul play was involved. The man was not concerned, however. He was confident that his captive would never be found here.

"What do you need me to do?" asked the young man.

"Bring some type of nourishment for him," he instructed. "I'll go check on him now." They both left, the young man going up the stairs, and his boss unlocking the door to the room where he kept Harm.

The master opened the door, not sure what to expect. Harm's earlier episode of hysteria was more than a little disconcerting. What he witnessed when he walked in was the last thing he expected.

Harm heard the door open and jumped up, looking to see who entered the room. As soon as he recognized his master, Harm hopped up onto the mattress on his hands and knees, his purpled, bruised ass facing the man at the door. He spread his knees apart and lowered his head to rest on his folded arms. He waited, not moving a muscle.

The master was stunned. As he moved closer, he could see that Harm was trembling ever so slightly, and he could hear Harm breathing a bit rapidly. Both Harm and the plastic covered mattress were a sticky mess. The master's semen from the earlier fucking had oozed out of Harm's anus, trickling down between his legs and across the back of his thighs, where it gradually dried. At any other time, Harm would have been driven to distraction by such a gross situation. Presently, he seemed to be totally ignorant of his plight.

The master wanted to assess Harm's mental condition to see just how far gone he was. He proceeded to test Harm's reactions and to check for signs of coherent thought. First, he ran his hand gently over Harm's abused ass cheek. The skin quivered under his fingers as Harm released a shuddering breath. The master then squeezed Harm's buttock, fingertips digging into the bruised flesh. Harm sucked in his breath and lifted his head, his eyes wide with alarm and pain. The master released his hold and Harm let out a long sigh. He moved his hand down between Harm's legs and began caressing Harm's balls, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the pain of a moment ago.

"Oh," Harm let out a tiny, barely audible moan. He spread his legs even further apart and dropped his head back down. The master nearly laughed out loud.

"What are you doing, my boy?" the older man asked with surprise. Harm appeared confused. He didn't know how to answer that. There was a long pause while the master waited, hoping for a response.

"I'm ... ready ... for you ... master," Harm spoke finally, quietly.

"Ready to give me anything I want?" he asked, as he continued fondling Harm's balls.

"Yes, master," Harm closed his eyes and shifted his weight, leaning into his master's caress.

"And what do you want, sweet boy?" he grinned, lightly teasing Harm's soft cock.

"To be yours ... I'm yours," Harm whispered. He didn't know what he wanted, what he was supposed to say. He felt an underlying current of fear, not only of pain and punishment, but also of being alone. The feeling flowed and ebbed, and he brushed it away from his consciousness. All he felt certain of was the need for comfort, and the one and only source of that comfort could come only from his master. "I need ..." The words wouldn't come.

"Show me, baby. Show me what you need," the master urged, as he moved his hand to Harm's shoulder. He stood very close to Harm's side. Harm slowly raised his head, turning it to look into his master's eyes, his expression blank. He straightened up, kneeling on the cot, and leaned forward, placing his head against the older man's shoulder. Harm wrapped his arms around his master, hugging the man to him tightly, chest to chest.

The master couldn't believe his good fortune, although he was convinced luck had nothing to do with it. He had successfully turned his captive into a docile, pliant slave, needing whatever attention he received from him, whether good or bad. He was quite proud of himself, confident of his skills in mind control. The fact that he was also able to satisfy his sexual kinks was purely a bonus. He returned Harm's embrace, his hands stroking across Harm's back. Harm nuzzled into the crook of his neck, clinging to him, their bodies pressing closely together.

"Good boy," the master murmured in Harm's ear. The master's arousal was evident. Harm, placing his hands on his master's chest, got off the cot and started slowly sliding down in front of him, sinking to his knees on the hard floor. When Harm's hands reached his master's belt, he began to undo it. The man grabbed both of Harm's wrists.

"No. Not right now," he said gently. He stared down, smiling at Harm's face, pleased with the initiative that Harm had taken. Although he had always had a voracious appetite for sex, he realized he wasn't twenty years old anymore. However, for a mid-forties man, he thought he was doing damn well in that department. Too bad he looked so much older from all the years of hard living.

Harm looked up at him, a questioning frown briefly passing over his features before the vacant, insipid expression returned. At that moment, the door opened. The fair-haired assistant entered, carrying a tray, and set it on the table. The master released Harm's wrists and buckled his belt.

"Sit," the older man ordered, pointing to the cot, knowing full well how uncomfortable that would be for his boy's sore ass. Harm obeyed immediately, hiding his discomfort well. The master was relieved to know Harm was still able to comprehend and carry out his wishes. He reached out with his hand towards Harm's face. Harm didn't flinch at all, just kept that blank look. The master caressed Harm's cheek, and Harm leaned into his palm, brushing his lips against his master's wrist. The man was taken aback by the unexpected gesture, and he turned away to face his young assistant.

"Your drink, sir," the light haired man announced, holding out the master's glass. "The soup is on the table."

"Thanks, that will be all," the master said, dismissing the younger man. He wanted to spend the evening alone with his docile slave.

"Good night, then." The young man left.

The master downed about half his drink and set it on the table. He carried the warm bowl in one hand over to Harm, and waved it under his nose. There was no reaction. Harm simply sat there with an eerie calm, his unfocused eyes staring off into space. His master sat down next to him, stirring the soup with a spoon.

"Hmmm, looks like chicken broth with rice," he coaxed. "Aren't you hungry?"

Harm shrugged. Food wasn't important. The pangs in his empty gut didn't matter. Nothing mattered, other than avoiding pain and punishment. He made no move to take the bowl of warm soup.

"Very well," scowled his master. He would have to specify what he wanted as a direct order. Taking a spoonful of the soup, he held the spoon up to Harm's lips. "Open," he said gruffly. Harm opened his mouth obediently, taking in the warm broth, and swallowed. His master spoon-fed him, mouthful by mouthful, until they had gotten through most of the bowl's contents. Occasionally, a few drops would spill down Harm's chin. Harm wiped the back of his hand across his mouth only once, making no further attempts to stop the drips. He had always been fastidious, but here in his present existence, he had given up hope of ever feeling clean again.

There was only a small amount of soup left in the bowl, and the master got tired of feeding Harm. He took Harm's hands and placed the bowl in them. "Finish it," he commanded. Harm obediently put the bowl up to his lips and slurped up the remaining contents, while his master watched. "Done?" he asked. Harm nodded. "Good. Put the bowl on the table and bring me my drink."

Harm complied. When he returned, he held out the glass, standing in front of his master. Before taking the glass, the older man's eyes gleamed, as he reached out and first played with Harm's cock. Harm stood motionless, his eyes staring straight ahead, not looking down once at the man seated before him.

The master was trying to get a reaction out of Harm, but there was none, so he took the glass from Harm's hand and took a couple of gulps. He held the glass up, not much left in it, and handed it back to Harm. "All yours. Bottoms up," he ordered. Harm finished it in one swallow, the bourbon burning down his throat. The older man took the empty glass from Harm and set it on the floor. He unbuttoned his cardigan sweater, letting it fall open, then spread his legs and leaned back onto his elbows.

"I'll take that blow job now, pretty boy," he said lasciviously. Harm dropped to his knees at once between his master's legs. The man made no move, waiting for Harm to do all the work. Harm realized this and quickly proceeded to unbuckle the belt, undo the closure of the khaki slacks, and pull down the zipper. He pushed the shirt up and out of the way, then pulled down at the pants and boxers, freeing his master's rod from its confinement. Even in its flaccid state, it was intimidating. Harm began to stroke with his hand, getting it hard and standing up within moments. Closing his eyes, he lowered his mouth to the rigid cock. After firmly licking the underside with his tongue, he finally closed his lips around the girth and took the twitching member into his warm mouth.

The master groaned. Watching Harm's every move was having even more of an effect on him, and he began to thrust his hips up. Harm wrapped a hand firmly around the shaft, pumping it. This way he could suck on the head without taking too much into his mouth. What Harm lacked in experience, he made up for in effort. He would learn what his master liked and disliked. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Harm's concentration on his singular objective was evident. Harm's lips slid up and down and his hand stroked the shaft in time with his master's thrusts.

"More ... harder," the master panted. He liked it rough. Harm increased the tempo and his grip, adding his other hand. "Oh, fuck yeah ... suck me dry," the older man hissed. He brought a hand up to Harm's head, tangling his fingers through Harm's hair. A long, low growl reverberated from him as he neared release. Harm pulled on him, almost painfully hard, bringing the master over the precipice. At the instant his climax began, he yanked Harm up by the hair, pulling Harm's mouth off his pulsing cock with a pop, his semen shooting all over Harm's lips. Harm opened his eyes with a look of shock, to meet soulless, evil eyes locked with his own.

"Don't move," his master warned, as he finished milking the last of his sperm from his spent cock with his own hand. Having let go of his master's shaft, Harm knelt motionless with his mouth hanging open, afraid he had done something wrong. The man fell back against the mattress for a few moments to catch his breath, and then lifted his head to look at Harm again. Harm's face was covered with his sperm, and it was dripping down Harm's chin. The master grinned at Harm and sat up. Harm did not understand all that had just transpired, only that it wasn't his place to question anything his master wanted or how he wanted it, so he simply waited for his next cue.

"Well, well, don't you look sweet wearing me on your delicious lips," the master muttered with a feral smile. He swiped a finger across Harm's lower lip, and showed him the white glob on his finger. "Mmm, mmm, good. Now lick it like a lollipop," he laughed as he stuck his forefinger right into Harm's mouth. Harm sucked the finger clean, wondering if he would ever cease to be shocked and amazed at the level of depravity and perverseness of this deviant man. He closed his eyes to try to think about anything else. Suddenly, the finger was gone, and he discovered that his master had leaned forward and captured his mouth in a rough, bruising kiss. The man licked, sucked and bit at Harm's lips, tasting his own essence. Harm submissively allowed the plundering of his mouth, astonished yet again. The master finally released his hold, and wiped his own mouth with the back of his hand. Harm was staring at him, and mimicked the move, wiping his own swollen lips with the back of his hand. The older man threw his head back and chortled loudly, thoroughly amused.

"Shit, that was funny. You crack me up," the master said, wiping at his eyes from all the laughter. Then abruptly, he waved Harm away with a motion of his hand. "I'm done with you for the day. Go clean yourself up," he ordered.

Harm got up from his knees, slowly, painfully, and padded over to the sink. He was grateful for the simple routine of getting to wash up, brush his teeth, and take care of his basic needs, ending with a long drink of water. While he was doing all that, the master had slipped out the door, and returned. Harm barely noticed. When he was finished, he turned to find a folded up blanket, flannel sheet and a pillow stacked on his cot. The master stood in front of him, and put his hand on Harm's shoulder.

"You've earned some basic necessities, my sweet boy. If you continue to behave well, you'll earn more privileges," he explained. "Now go prepare your bed before I turn out the light." As Harm unfolded and spread the sheet over the mattress, the master continued speaking. "I think you are ready to be trusted, to some extent anyway. As long as you do not touch anything in this room, I won't chain you to your bed. Do not go wandering around in the dark, however. Just in case you can't make it through the night, go ahead and put your pail nearby where you can find it. The light is to stay off, understand?"

"Yes, master," Harm said, as he retrieved a bucket from under the sink and headed back to the cot. His master was waiting by the door.

"Good night then, my sweet boy," the master said, waiting until Harm lay down and pulled the blanket up over himself. The master flipped the switch and exited, locking the door behind him.

Harm lay awake for a while in the profound darkness; the only sound was that of his own breathing. At least he wasn't shackled to the wall and he had a blanket. He curled up on his side. Another endlessly long day was finally over, only to face another endlessly long night. He felt so utterly alone. The fatigue, the aches, the hunger, the mind games, it had all worn thin on him, worn him down. He had given up on any shred of hope. He wondered if this was what it felt like to go insane.

***

Days turned into weeks and Harm lost all sense of time. He had, for the first few days after his abduction, been able to track what day of the week it was, but eventually the days all blurred together. He had no idea how many days had passed. All he could assume was the start of a new day after many hours of pitch-black darkness. The light was usually left on during the course of a day, presumably to differentiate between day and night. All bedding was removed from the cot each morning and returned at the end of each day.

Every day of Harm's mind-numbing existence had fallen into basically the same dull routine. Each morning, the young sandy haired assistant arrived to perform the ritual of preparing Harm for his master. Harm had not seen the other young man with the long, dark hair once since he had been beaten, which was a relief to him. Harm was hoisted up in the harness, staked out to the poles, washed clean, hosed off, and given an enema. He was also kept clean-shaven. Periodically, when his body hair would start to grow back, it would be removed again. Harm knew better than to fight any of it, and he would submit passively, with a calm acceptance of his fate.

That calm resignation also carried Harm throughout the days. The master would show up at some point for a short while, to take what he wanted from his docile slave. Harm always made sure he was ready to jump to the required position on his knees. His master would either fuck his mouth or his ass, sometimes both. After a while, it hardly even hurt anymore. Harm would make sure to relax, and the master would always take his time, preparing Harm with ample lube. Harm would never really get used to the violation, but he accepted the inevitability of it with as much quiet dignity as he could muster. He never cried out, never made a sound, not a moan, or even a grunt. Harm learned what worked best for getting his master off quickly, making him appear willing and eager to please in his captor's eyes. The master would, at times, stubbornly attempt to stimulate Harm, stroking and fondling his cock. Only rarely, did that succeed in producing an erection, but even then, Harm would lose it, never reaching climax. Not once during this period of time, did Harm get whipped or beaten. Even the severe bruising on his buttocks began to fade with time. Aside from being used as a fuck toy, he experienced no other physical abuse. There were always verbal reinforcements, not that Harm needed to be reminded of anything. He did whatever he had to do to survive.

The master would always return a second time, hours later in the day, usually staying a bit longer. One thing remained constant. The master always reeked of booze, whether or not he carried a drink with him, yet never appearing overly drunk. Harm would be given a small amount of the once a day nourishment, usually in the form of a protein shake or soup. The lack of food kept him weak and often dizzy. His stomach hurt constantly. He had little strength and even less energy, and he began losing weight. After the nourishment, he would sometimes be required to service his master again.

Other times, the man would just sit on the cot and talk. The subject was never important. It was always a one-sided conversation, as Harm never spoke anymore, other than to answer a direct question. Even if he was tempted to speak, he squashed the urge, not wanting to antagonize his master in any way. The master always had Harm lie beside him, with Harm's head resting on his lap, running his fingers gently through his hair or rubbing his shoulder while he talked. Harm listened attentively to the droning voice, learning what he could about how his captor's mind worked, and relaxed under the affectionate touches. Harm had come to look forward to this part of the day, needing, even craving, this caring, non-sexual contact, no matter who the source of it was. He was always sad when it ended, either clinging to his master's thigh or hugging him when the man moved to stand up. Harm had become desperately dependent on his master's attention. Every night Harm was told he was a good boy before he was left to his dark, lonely isolation.

In between the master's visits, Harm spent the rest of the time alone, and the hours stretched by in endless boredom. Other than the morning routine of being suspended, he was left unshackled, with free run of the room. The cuffs were left on as reminders, and he never dared to touch anything he wasn't supposed to. When he was not too light-headed, he would pace the room in circles. He also got into the habit of massaging his muscles in an attempt to work out the kinks. He was losing muscle tone, his joints ached constantly, and his knees were especially painful. Often, he would just end up sitting with his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking himself into oblivion. There was nothing to do, other than wait and think. Harm spent as much time as possible sleeping to avoid thinking. Thinking was too painful, as was the utter loneliness he felt.

The memories of his former life were beginning to fade away with each passing day. Embarrassment at his nudity had faded as well. He barely even remembered what it felt like to wear clothes. Every morning he was given a clean pair of the heavy winter socks to keep his feet warm and protected, and he was grateful for that. If only there was something to distract him, reading, music, anything to pass the time.

Harm's mind was becoming more and more numb, except for the times he would think about death. The possibility of death entered his thoughts more and more frequently. Harm was beginning to believe he would never be set free, that he would die in this place that kept him prisoner. By giving up, he had reached the deep pit of hopelessness and despair. Only his strong survival instinct kept him going. He realized he could never take his own life; it was too final. He could almost hear a familiar voice in his mind saying 'Suck it up, sailor. Deal with it.' Yup. Definitely something Mac would say. His best friend, that is, former best friend. Now he didn't even have that anymore. A look of absolute misery crossed Harm's haggard features, as he tried to push that thought out of his mind. He certainly did not feel like a sailor, or a naval officer, or a commander, or even a man. He wasn't even Harmon Rabb, Jr. anymore. All he was now was a prisoner with no name, a sex slave, just a fuck toy for a twisted man's sick game. Yet every time he thought of ways to end it all, the survival instinct would kick in. However, that didn't keep him from imagining ways to get himself killed.

***

In the world outside of Harm's windowless prison, time also passed and life went on. Approximately three weeks had gone by since Commander Rabb's abduction. The Thanksgiving holiday had come and gone and Christmas would soon be approaching. The mood at JAG Headquarters was far from celebratory, with the staff working in a subdued and strained manner, trying to go about their business. Office morale was never lower. With each passing day, it seemed less and less likely that Commander Rabb would just turn up. It was as though he had simply vanished from the face of the earth. Bud Roberts and Jennifer Coates remained doggedly optimistic and Sturgis Turner offered moral support with his unique brand of words of comfort. No one on staff wanted to admit to giving up hope that Rabb was still alive, but practical considerations would need to be addressed to eventually move on. Admiral Chegwidden knew he'd have to reassign the billet and find a replacement for Rabb, but he would try to hold off on that decision until the New Year.

As far as the investigation went, there were simply no solid leads and no useful evidence. The police detective was ready to mark it as a cold case and the NCIS investigator was inclined to agree. Lieutenant Roberts had been tireless in his research, including Internet searches and going through Rabb's old case files, trying to find a connection. Since he didn't know what he was looking for, he cast a wide net, hoping an idea would come to him.

Nothing had panned out, and even Clayton Webb hit dead end after dead end. There were, of course, no unaccounted for fingerprints on the anonymous package sent to Chegwidden, but Webb kept the evidence safely locked away, if only to glean a missed clue from further analysis. The two men that Rabb appeared to have left that bar with that night had to be involved somehow. They may have been the last two people to see him alive, but without a decent description, it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Webb also poured through classified files and records at Langley, trying to discover if Rabb had made any enemies during his stint with the CIA. Webb even went so far as to install hidden surveillance equipment in and around Rabb's apartment, on the off chance that someone might come snooping around. The state of the art digital video cameras were both sound and motion activated, transmitting only as needed, and recording to a remote location for Webb to scan through at his convenience. Rabb's loft and phones were audio bugged as well.

Webb also followed up on Chegwidden's notion that Clark Palmer was somehow involved. The sociopath had been bent on revenge against Rabb for as long as Webb could remember, so Webb paid a visit to Palmer in his prison cell at Leavenworth. The visit proved unproductive as well. Webb left the meeting with just as many questions and doubts as before. He decided to stop by JAG Headquarters before returning to Langley, after calling first to make sure the Admiral was in.

"Enter," Chegwidden barked, and Webb came into the Admiral's office, shutting the door. Chegwidden remained seated behind his desk. "Have a seat, Webb."

"How is everyone holding up here, Admiral?" Webb asked with concern, as he took his chair.

"Well, it's been ... rough," sighed Chegwidden. With no wish to expound any further, he got straight to the point. "You got anything new?"

"I just came back from Leavenworth," Webb said.

"Oh? ... And how is that maniac Palmer?" the Admiral asked derisively.

"The meeting was ... inconclusive," began Webb.

"Oh, great. What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the Admiral interrupted, his patience short.

"Believe me, A.J., I had hoped to trip him up, or at the very least, to be able to read him one way or the other," Webb explained patiently. "On the one hand, he appeared to be genuinely surprised by the fact that Rabb is missing. Naturally, he was tickled pink by the news, and I thought maybe his usual urge to gloat about his clever genius, to take credit, would cause him to give something away. He never slipped, though, and I pressed as hard as I dared. He either really doesn't know anything, or he is doing a damn good job of feigning innocence. I am unable to give you a definite opinion either way. I've got someone on the inside, checking into any and all contacts Palmer may have made to anyone on the outside. We'll continue to monitor him closely."

"Dammit, this is so frustrating. We've made zero progress, haven't we?" A.J. wasn't really looking for an answer to that. He knew Clayton Webb was in agreement.

Webb nodded. "I even tried to find a connection to the terrorist, Sadik, but no luck so far. The investigation seems to be at a standstill at the moment, but we can't give up," Webb persisted. "At least, I won't."

The two men glared at each other.

"What are you implying, Webb, that I'm giving up?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Webb replied defensively. "The two of us know a little more than anyone else about Rabb's fate, not that it's much. I just know that when I was in a similar situation, it was his determination that found and rescued us. My god, Sarah and I would both be dead if it wasn't for Rabb. The man saved our lives, A.J., and I will never forget it. No matter how hopeless it seems, I'll never stop searching for him. I owe him that much."

After a long pause, Chegwidden spoke softly. "What happened in Paraguay ... it still haunts you doesn't it?"

"I'll be honest with you, Admiral. I was never so scared in my life, not for myself though, for Sarah. I've been trained to deal with the possibility of facing a painful and violent death, but knowing that I had put the Colonel in that same position was the worst torture of all." Webb stopped to take a deep breath and then snorted. "And then there comes Commander Rabb - sorry, at that point it was just Harmon Rabb - to the rescue, saving not only Sarah, but my sorry ass as well, and taking out the stinger missiles to boot. The only thing the hero was missing was a white horse." Webb stood up and raked a shaking hand through his hair. "Jesus, I'm starting to sound maudlin."

Webb's sarcasm regarding Rabb's rank was not lost on Chegwidden, but he let it go. He could see that Webb was stressed. "It's just a little surprising, coming from you. The Company doesn't exactly take the same stand as the Navy regarding not leaving a man behind."

Webb paced back and forth, formulating a response to Chegwidden's comment. "Well, then maybe that makes me a lousy Company man. I never used to let my personal feelings interfere with a mission. This is different. I don't know if I can explain it. I just have to do whatever I can to help find Rabb." He looked at A.J. and shook his head. The Admiral rose from his chair and moved to stand in front of the shorter man.

"Look, I'm with you on this, Webb. We keep looking and praying until, one way or another, we bring Harm home. I just hope wherever he is, if he's conscious, that he is holding onto a shred of hope that we're searching for him." He put his hand on Webb's shoulder. Webb simply nodded, his jaw clenching to keep his emotions under control. When he couldn't meet Chegwidden's worried eyes any longer, he pulled away and turned to the window. Neither man spoke for over a minute, as Webb struggled to regain his composure.

"Rabb's disappearance has hit Sarah pretty hard," Webb said finally, still gazing out the window.

"The Colonel has been hiding her feelings around here, you know, putting on the tough Marine act," the Admiral admitted. "But, I imagine that she must be upset. They've been friends and partners for a long time. I'm sure her feelings run deep."

"It's...complicated," Webb said. "Their friendship has been strained for months, since..." His thought trailed off.

"I don't begin to know all that happened in Paraguay, but a lot of things sure have changed since then," Chegwidden said.

"Yeah, a lot has, and I've said too much already." Webb did not want to discuss Lt. Colonel MacKenzie any further with her Commanding Officer. He was just so worried about her, or he wouldn't have brought the subject up at all. The Admiral didn't need to know that what Webb and Mac went through together on that disastrous mission had bonded them. He didn't need to know that Mac felt guilty for the agony Webb suffered trying to protect her from Sadik's torture, or what she was willing to sacrifice to save Webb's life. He didn't need to know how deeply Webb admired and cared for that tough Marine, yet vulnerable, beautiful woman. The Admiral did not need to know that Webb was painfully aware that, in spite of everything that had happened, Mac was in love with Harm, not him. All Webb could hope to share with Mac was comfort and friendship, and it would have to be enough. Her heart belonged elsewhere. Finally, Webb sure as hell wasn't going to tell the Admiral that part of the reason Mac was so distraught over the missing Commander, was due to her guilt over all the past mistakes, the hurtful things she had said to Rabb, especially after their rescue. She was afraid that she would never see him again, never get the chance to make things right, never be able to tell him how she honestly felt in her heart.

"Webb? Are you all right?" Chegwidden was concerned.

"Yes, Admiral, I need to get out of here though," Webb stated, as he tried to head for the door.

"Keep me informed of any new developments, no matter how small," Chegwidden said, blocking Webb's path. "I am aware that you have been spending time with Mac," he said carefully, his eyes focused intently on Webb's face. "It's good that she has a friend to lean on."

"Well, that works both ways. Sarah has helped me a lot, too," admitted Webb. "With everything we had shared together, it's been ..." He hesitated. "We've gotten ... close."

The Admiral didn't want to know how close. "Just know this, Webb," Chegwidden warned, "If you ever hurt Mac in any way, I'll break your nose again." He stepped aside so Webb could leave.

"Don't worry, A.J. I would do anything for her to be happy ... anything." Webb responded cryptically. He moved to the door without looking back at the Admiral, threw it open, and walked swiftly through the bullpen. He glanced towards Mac's office, but she wasn't around, so he headed for the elevator.

Chegwidden went back to his desk and shook his head. He couldn't help but wonder just how deep Clayton Webb's feelings for Sarah MacKenzie went.

***

Several more days passed, and the master was feeling restless. The Christmas season was approaching. He always hated this time of year, never had any use for the holiday season. Over the years, he had used and discarded a large number of young women and occasionally even young men, strictly for the purpose of kinky sex. He never formed an emotional attachment, never had a meaningful relationship with anyone, and always ended up alone. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it, whether or not he had consent. He was of the mindset that women, especially, were good for one thing only, and that was to be flat on their backs with their legs spread. Not that he treated members of the male population much better; he was an all around nasty bastard to cross paths with.

However, he now had Harm. Harm was older than he would have preferred, but he was his pet project. The mission was a complete success, and he was quite proud of his accomplishment. Not only was Harm meekly obedient and submissive, he had become totally dependent on his master for his every need in order to survive. Harm had surrendered his body and his will as a result of the man's methodical brainwashing techniques. The master had turned Harm into a docile, compliant slave to fulfill his own wanton sexual desires. Where he had used fear, pain, threats, and blackmail before, he now used rewards, comfort, and reassurance liberally to reinforce his control.

Harm's subjugation was not enough, though. The master was beginning to get bored. As much as he enjoyed his power and domination over his helpless pet, he felt something was missing. The man had become thoroughly obsessed with Harm. It had gone well beyond revenge, beyond hatred. The master wanted Harm to desire him back, to beg for everything he could give him, to want it in return. He wanted to see something other than that impassive, expressionless look on Harm's face. The man had effectively ruined nearly every aspect of Harm's former life, as well as destroyed any hope for a future. With that mission complete, it was time to set a new goal. The master was not sure the outcome would be successful, but he was ready to proceed to the next level of mind control.

The bizarre relationship between master and slave was about to change again.

Harm sat cross-legged on the bare mattress, rocking back and forth, as he often did. Although unable to guess how much time passed by, he had become automatically conditioned to anticipate the evening sessions. He waited anxiously, salivating at the thought that nourishment would be arriving before too long. It was always something simple, and never enough, but it would take the edge off his starvation for a short while. The master did try to vary the choice from day to day, and Harm would kill time by trying to guess what his master would bring. A hot soup or broth would warm him up, as the room was still kept on the cool side during the day and downright chilly at night. Harm was able to hear whenever the heating system would kick on, another thing he learned to look forward too. On the other hand, one of those protein shakes, especially if it was thick, would fill him up more. They never had ice added to them, so they weren't overly cold. He liked the fruity ones the best, a sweet yet healthy treat. The master would get impatient if Harm dawdled over his mealtime in order to stall, so Harm learned to quickly consume what he was given.

Finally, the door swung open. Harm immediately got up into position on his hands and knees, facing the door, with his head up and a keenly expectant look on his face. The master smiled at Harm, observing that it was the most animated his slave appeared all day. He carried a small tray over to the table, as was customary, and Harm noticed it contained a bottle of Jack Daniels, the master's usual glass, and a large plastic tumbler with a straw.

'Goody, that would be some kind of shake,' Harm thought eagerly. It usually consisted of protein powder and milk, whipped up in a blender. Now he only had to wonder what flavor and if anything special was added. He licked his lips and caught the master watching him. Harm never moved until his master gave permission to do so.

"Come on over and join me at the table today, my boy," the man instructed, pulling out the two chairs. Harm scrambled to his feet and padded over to stand at parade rest in front of his master. This was part of the routine he had learned. His master controlled all his actions and he waited patiently. The man sat in one of the chairs directly in front of Harm, giving him an excellent view of Harm's manhood.

"Pour me a drink," he ordered, as he placed his hand on Harm's thigh. Harm had to lean in slightly to pick up the bottle. With his other hand, he managed to remove the top, as the master's hand slid upwards to his cock. He knew the man was deliberately trying to distract him, and his hand shook as he poured the liquid into the glass. He was careful not to spill a drop, even as the hand caressed his most intimate places. Harm set the bottle back down and had to lean forward again to reach the glass and pick it up. The master's hand was holding Harm's member and he chose that moment to lean in and swipe his tongue across the head of Harm's cock. Harm emitted a small startled gasp and froze. He refused to look down, and averted his eyes, only to catch the reflection of everything in the large mirror. Harm saw as well as felt his master's tongue swirling around the most sensitive part of his penis. This was the last thing he expected, and he didn't want it to be happening. When Harm's cock twitched in response, he was mortified. The man let go of him and Harm was greatly relieved, letting out the breath he was holding.

"Aww, come on, pretty boy, it's nice to know you're only human," the master grinned up at Harm. Harm just stood there mutely. "You know, you really should stop denying yourself the pleasures of the flesh. If you'd just let me give you everything you need, your time here would be so much better." The master finally took the glass out of Harm's hand and tossed a mouthful down his throat.

"You may sit now," the man said pointing to the other chair. Harm complied and was happy to bring his attention back to the shake in front of him. He stared at the tumbler until his master spoke again. "Go ahead and taste it. Tell me what you think."

Harm held the big cup with both hands and sucked on the straw, pulling hard. The contents were very thick, almost too thick for the straw to work. He finally got a mouthful, savoring the flavor before he swallowed.

"Mmmm, banana!" Harm exclaimed, looking at his master with a small, but appreciative smile. "My favorite." He had no idea how much that half-smile melted the older man. The master's eyes crinkled as he chuckled.

"How can that be your favorite? Just a few days ago, you said strawberries were your favorite."

"Um ... I dunno ... banana even better," Harm said between mouthfuls. He had given up on the straw and tipped the cup up to his lips, slurping greedily.

"I'm glad you like it. Figured you can use the potassium. There's two whole bananas blended in, plus some yogurt and just a little bit of honey."

"It's really good," Harm mumbled, still working on the sweet, thick concoction.

"I'll be right back," the master said, as he stood up, emptying his glass with a couple of gulps. "Pour me another one." He left Harm alone to finish up his meal.

Harm set his shake aside for the moment and poured another glassful from the bottle of bourbon. As he looked at the bottle, the thought of how nice it might feel to get drunk flitted briefly through his mind. To be truly numb for a while could make his situation more tolerable. As tempting as that seemed, he realized he wouldn't dare risk it. Harm pushed the notion away and returned to his shake, finishing the last drop.

The master returned with three pillows in his arms and he deposited them on the cot. Harm watched warily. There was a certain safety in their usual routine, knowing what to expect. This was new and different, which made Harm nervous. The master then walked over to Harm.

"Finished?"

"Yes, master. Thank you," Harm replied softly. He looked up at his master looming over him.

"Maybe you should thank me properly," the man rumbled in a low voice, leaning close. Harm tilted his head back, and closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly. He trusted his master enough not to flinch. The master captured Harm's mouth with his own, his tongue licking Harm's soft lips, and then probing between them. As he explored Harm's mouth, all he could taste was banana-flavored sweetness. The only trace of alcohol was what Harm tasted on his master. Satisfied, the man sat back in his chair and picked up his refilled glass. Harm watched him curiously. The master seemed pleased, and then Harm realized it was another test, which he obviously passed.

"Go rinse out your cup and bring it here," the master ordered. Harm obeyed and then handed over the cup. "Sit," commanded the master. He took the bottle and poured a generous amount into the plastic tumbler, and handed it to Harm. "Join me." He lifted his own glass and smirked.

"Okay," Harm acknowledged quietly, and took a swallow of the potent bourbon. It would appear that his master was going to try to get him drunk, so he would have to pace himself. Since Harm had no control over mind or body anyway, he did not have anything to lose by getting wasted, but he did not want to get sick in the process. The master leaned back in his chair and relaxed, periodically downing a gulp from his glass, watching Harm the entire time. Harm timed his drinks from his cup accordingly, but swallowed smaller amounts. The minutes ticked by in silence. When the master's glass was empty again, Harm's cup still had some of the strong liquid remaining. Harm was starting to feel a buzz, and he relaxed against the back of his chair, playing with the cup. The master took note of the tension slowly leaving Harm's body, and decided the time was right.

"How do you feel, my sweet boy?" the man asked.

"Um ... okay, I guess," Harm answered, with that little half-smile. He appeared to be feeling better than okay. His master took the cup and looked into it. There wasn't much booze left.

"I think you've had enough for now," he stated.

"If you say so ... master," Harm smirked, definitely sounding relaxed. He wouldn't have minded finishing the last couple of gulps. The master grinned with amusement. He didn't want Harm too drunk, just enough to take the edge off and loosen him up. Leaving everything on the table, the master got up and extended his hand to Harm.

"Come with me," the man commanded. He took Harm by the hand and Harm jumped up to follow him, ending up next to the cot. The master usually followed certain predictable routines, and Harm had come to expect that predictability. There was safety in knowing what pleased his master, and that knowledge helped Harm to handle whatever he needed to do. Harm wondered what the master would want next. He had a feeling it would be more than the after dinner chat and lying in his lap, so he mentally prepared himself to deal with it.

Harm watched his master take two of the pillows he had brought in earlier and place them at the end of the cot against the wall. 'Okay, this is different already,' Harm thought warily.

"Lie on your back for me," the master ordered. Harm promptly obeyed, letting his head and shoulders rest against the pillows, his arms at his sides, legs straight, and feet apart. His master was standing next to him. "Good boy. Give me your right hand." Harm lifted his arm and the man clasped his hand, pulling it toward the wall behind Harm's head, and then securing the wrist cuff to the wall.

Harm felt his calm resolve slipping, as his anxiety level rose. 'Oh-god, now what?' he wondered. Harm didn't understand why this was happening and, despite feeling tipsy from the alcohol, he had to push down the fear that threatened to envelope him.

The master had moved to the other side. "Other hand," he said, taking it and shackling it behind Harm's head as well. Harm trembled visibly. Fear of the unknown made for an effective mind game, and Harm wished he had more alcohol in him. Things were easier when he was numb, and he wanted to be numb now. Instead, he was scared. Harm almost missed his master's next instruction.

"Now bring your knees up to your chest," he said.

"Wha...?" Harm came back to reality, confused, bending his legs at the knees, but with his feet planted on the mattress.

"Pay attention, boy," the master warned. "Bring your knees all the way up against your chest." Harm complied, but his eyes were wide with fear. He folded his legs as tightly against his body as he could. He wanted so much to ask his master why he was doing this. He couldn't think of anything he had done wrong to anger the man. Maybe the master would explain the purpose of this, like he sometimes did. Harm watched as his master grabbed a hold of his left foot, pulling the cuff of the sock down to expose the ankle shackle. The man eased Harm's leg slowly outward so that his knee ended up out past his left shoulder.

"Don't fight me. Let me do all the work," the master said firmly. Still gripping Harm's foot, he pulled it further out to the side in one swift, smooth move, and fastened the ankle cuff to a chain attached to the wall off to the left of the cot. Harm looked over at the taut chain, realizing he was unable to move his foot more than a few inches in any direction. He let out a feeble whimpering sound and tried to pull against the bonds that held him fast.

"Stop struggling, boy," he said as he moved around to the other side of the cot. "You'll only succeed in scraping and bruising your wrists and ankles. Now just relax." Harm had dropped his right foot back onto the mattress during this ordeal. The master simply grasped it and pulled Harm's remaining leg into position and fastened the shackle to the other chain that hung from a point somewhere off to the right of Harm's shoulder.

Harm looked down at himself. He didn't think he could feel any more degraded. Now he was trussed up somewhat like a rodeo calf, except that he was spread open, legs wide apart, knees nearly flush with his shoulders, leaving him utterly exposed and helpless. He wasn't intoxicated nearly enough to deal with this, and another whimper escaped as he tried to choke back his frustration.

"I know it feels awkward, sweet boy, but I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," the master was speaking in his low, hypnotic voice. He placed the remaining pillow underneath Harm's ass for support, and noticed a single tear trickle past Harm's temple. "Are you in much pain, baby?" he asked gently.

"N-no," Harm answered, quivering, his voice barely above a whisper. Although uncomfortable, he figured out there was enough play in the chains to keep a bend in his knees and prevent too much strain on his hamstrings. It was best if he could just relax his muscles and allow the chains to do the work of holding his legs up.

"What's wrong then?" the master pushed.

"Y-you don't need to do this, master. I... I do anything you want. This isn't n-necessary," Harm was whining. "Haven't I been good?"

"Oh, sweet baby, you're a very good boy," the master smiled. "This isn't a punishment. It just makes it easier for me, and for you too, you'll see. You won't have to control the urge to close your legs, or be able to kick me for that matter. All you have to do now is lie back and enjoy. This evening is all about you, my special boy. I'm going to show you how much you mean to me." He reached down and caressed Harm's cheek. Harm was still confused. He hated not knowing what to expect. "I told you I'm not going to hurt you, and I meant it. If you feel pain, you can let me know. Deal?"

"O-okay," Harm replied.

"Do you trust me?"

Harm wasn't convinced he could answer that honestly, so he couldn't make himself say the word. He merely nodded.

"I wish you would relax a little. Would you like another shot of Jack?"

"Yes, please, master." Harm perked up a tiny bit, making his master grin. The man retrieved the cup from the table and held it up to Harm's lips. Harm finished what was left in two large gulps. A little bit of the liquid dribbled down his chin, and his tongue flicked over his lower lip.

"Let me get that for you, baby," said the master. He leaned down to Harm's face and licked the trail of moisture off Harm's chin, ending up at Harm's lips where he brushed gently against them. "Mmm, you taste so good," he purred. Harm could do no other than to lie there and look at him. They were practically nose-to-nose, the master staring intently into Harm's eyes.

"Please don't be afraid," The master crooned softly. "I want to give you what you give me, my sweet boy. Please let me make it good for you."

Harm didn't know what to say to this, so he said nothing. His master sounded almost pleading, needing this ... whatever 'this' was. Harm could do nothing but watch and wait, and hope he behaved correctly.

The master straightened up and walked over to the table for a few moments, then turned back towards the cot where Harm lay, so open and vulnerable. Rhythmic, thumping music filled the room, another hard, loud song with harsh guitars and pounding drums and bass, and then an angry, raspy male voice half singing, half shouting the lyrics.

*I cannot ever find a way  
To throw these darkened thoughts away  
Need a place to hide  
It's thrown in my face everyday  
Guess that's the price I have to pay  
For what's inside my mind...*

The master took off his boots as Harm watched. Then he completely removed his slacks and tossed them over a chair. Next, he unbuttoned and took off his flannel shirt, leaving him in a white tee shirt, boxers and socks. He grabbed a tube of lubricant from his pants pocket, came back to the cot and kneeled on the mattress, directly in front of Harm.

Harm thought he knew what would happen next. He assumed his master wanted to fuck him face to face. He thought it couldn't be that different from all the other times when the man took him from behind. He would just close his eyes and get through it as he always did. Harm waited for the fingers to enter him, to prepare him for the inevitable intrusion. Instead, he felt his master's hands on the backs of his thighs, stroking gently back and forth.

The master caressed the length of Harm's thighs, softly, lazily. He could both see and feel Harm's anxiety as he touched the quivering skin. He planned to take as much time as needed, no reason to rush.

*...I bide my time  
I'm intertwined  
I'm falling in this place  
I thought I left behind  
I bide my time...*

The master moved his hands to the inside of Harm's thighs, stroking right up to where his legs ended, but carefully avoiding Harm's balls and cock. After a few minutes, the tension seemed to leave Harm's face, though his eyes were still squeezed shut. The master smiled and moved his hands up and around to Harm's belly, gently caressing him there, then moved his fingers up over Harm's abs, always keeping a steady, circular motion. Several more minutes passed and Harm began to relax from the leisurely massage of his torso, combined with the effects of the bourbon. The master needed to lean forward to reach Harm's chest, so he had to put one hand down next to Harm's side to support himself.

Harm's eyes flew open, and he found his master hovering over him, balanced on his knees and one hand. His other hand was free to stroke Harm's chest, which he did, his fingers moving in ever-smaller circles on one side, until he reached Harm's nipple. He ran his thumb lightly across the nub until it became a stiff peak. Harm shivered slightly. The master moved to the other side of Harm's chest, repeating the teasing pattern with his fingers, drawing ever nearer to Harm's other nipple. Harm unconsciously arched upward, anticipating the tingling sensation of his master's thumb on the already hard pebble. This time, the master pinched the sensitive nipple between his thumb and forefinger and Harm twitched with a little gasp. The man looked him in the eyes and smiled, then brought his mouth down over the nipple. As he flicked it with his tongue, he slid his hand down Harm's front until he reached his target. He lightly stroked the underside of Harm's shaft with his palm until he felt it twitch. He then clamped his lips over Harm's nipple and chest, sucking hard.

Harm pushed his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes again. He let out only a shuddering sigh, made no other sound. Physically, the sensations were overwhelming him and his body just wanted to surrender to them. However, mentally, he was fighting it, not ready to give in to the raw feelings that his master was trying to draw out of him. It was as if the man could read his mind.

"It's okay, baby," the man coaxed, after releasing the other nipple from his mouth. He had left his marks on Harm's skin, purple hickeys from where he suckled a path across Harm's chest from one nipple to the other. "Just let go. I want to make you feel good," he urged. "You are my special boy and you deserve to feel pleasure. Let me give it to you ... it would make me happy." As he persisted in convincing Harm, he continued to stroke Harm's cock until he finally felt a reaction. He immediately stopped then, moving to a different tactic. He left Harm's cock laying against his belly, and his fingers caressed Harm's balls instead. Finally, with one finger, he began to tickle the sensitive spot between Harm's balls and anus.

*...I am alive  
I will never run away  
Places inside  
My heart screams inside with pride  
Once I cry  
Now I wipe away the tears  
Once I die  
Now I'm alive*

The master smirked. He definitely had Harm's attention now. He would have his slave begging for it sooner or later. Still kneeling, the man leaned back again, resting his haunches on his heels, never stopping the caresses against Harm's perineum. His finger would occasionally slide lightly across his puckered hole as well, and his other hand fondled his balls. He watched his captive's face. Harm wore a frown and was chewing on his lower lip.

'Still fighting it,' the master thought. He picked up Harm's cock and stroked it several times, just long enough to get him partially erect, before he let go of him again. Harm finally opened his eyes, looking a bit dazed. The master wasted no time grabbing the lube, coating his middle finger with it, and spreading some on Harm's anal opening. Harm gasped, even though he knew what was coming, and he unclenched in preparation as the finger eased into him. At this point, Harm would normally dissociate himself from what his master was doing to him and try to focus on something else. However, this time it was more difficult. Harm was expecting his master to prepare and stretch him in his usual efficient manner, but this felt strangely different. The master's finger was gently probing, pressing, and kept changing angles, and he was in no hurry. The man's gaze was locked intently on Harm's eyes, as he added a second finger and slowly worked it into Harm's tight passage.

Harm averted his eyes. It was difficult enough without being stared at face to face. The master curved his fingers and continued the massaging motions until suddenly, Harm's eyes grew wide with surprise.

"Oh," the strangled sound escaped from Harm involuntarily. He felt an intense sensation from deep inside wash over him, unlike anything he had ever felt before. Then the fingers stopped moving.

"Am I hurting you?" the master queried.

"N-no, master," Harm shook his head vigorously. This was definitely not pain, but something altogether different and unexpected. The master stroked Harm's prostate again.

"Ohhh," Harm moaned louder, as another wave of indescribable pleasure rumbled through him. His muscles tensed and his cock jumped, as he waited for the next stroke.

"Ahh, looks like I found your magic spot," the master chuckled. Harm's cock was growing hard, and the master gave it a few teasing strokes until it stood stiffly at attention, and then abandoned it once again. Harm groaned with frustration, feeling an uncontrollable need for friction. His fists clenched as he strained against his shackles. At that moment, Harm would have brought his hand down to pump his own cock if he could. He tried to buck against the master's fingers, but couldn't get any leverage in his awkwardly bound position. The master moved his fingers inside once more, making Harm moan from the intense pleasure that coursed through him. Abruptly, the fingers withdrew completely, leaving Harm feeling empty and bereft.

"Don't you want me to stop?" the master said sarcastically. Harm hesitated for a moment, and then merely shook his head, unable to speak. His breathing quickened, his cock was achingly hard and leaking pre-cum, and he was helpless to resist against the all-encompassing desire to climax. Whatever his master was doing to him, it felt unbelievably good. Harm lost all ability of rational thought, ready to surrender to a more basic, desperate need.

"More." Harm managed to grind out the one word, his voice pleading, even demanding. He lifted his head up off the pillow, panting, glaring into his master's eyes.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll give you all you want," the master assured him. He quickly lubed up his own throbbing member and nudged at Harm's entrance. Harm looked down his body and watched his master's cock slowly disappear as it entered him. His head fell back against the pillow, and he let his body simply absorb the sensations.

The master thrust a few times, shifting until he found the right angle to stroke against Harm's prostate. As he leaned over Harm and pumped into him, Harm's cock was trapped between their bodies. The man's thrusting motion made his belly just barely rub against Harm's stiff shaft.

Harm was out of his mind, lost in the throes of ecstasy. He thrashed against his bonds, shaking and rattling the chains, trying to arch up against his master for more contact on his aching rod. His release was building, simmering deep within him, but he needed more friction to boil over.

"Ohhh, please ... I need more!" Harm begged loudly now. "Please! ... Master ... I need ... I need..."

"What do you need, baby?" The master panted, thrusting harder. "Tell me what you want."

"Oh-god! ... I need ... " Harm cried out frantically, between gasping breaths. The rhythmic contact on his prostate was so intense that there was no stopping his frenzy. "Please ... I want you to ... Please make me come! ... Oh, master! ... So close ... my dick ... for god's sake, help me!"

"Ask and you shall receive, my boy," the master said gleefully, finally rewarding Harm's begging. He reached down and firmly grasped Harm's raging erection and pumped it in time with his own thrusts. It only took a few strokes to send Harm screaming incoherently over the edge.

"Aahhh....aaaahhhh!" Harm's legs shook uncontrollably, as the waves of orgasm emanated from deep within. He came all over his chest and stomach until the pulsing in his cock finally subsided. It was the most mind-shattering climax he could ever remember, and he nearly blacked out.

"Hot fucking damn, I love watching you come!" The master was near his own release, yet in complete control. He had felt Harm's muscles spasm around his cock, and he quickened his pace, coming hard with a roar. "Oh ... yeah! ... You make it so good!" The man was out of breath and let himself collapse on top of Harm to recover. Harm grunted as his master's weight landed across him. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, lying motionless while his heart rate started slowing down. It was over. He was spent emotionally, as well as physically. The enormity of what had just transpired sank in, and silent tears stung his eyes. Harm had come from a man's dick in his ass, and worse, he had begged for it. It was as if his brain ceased to function and his body had a mind of its own. He did not stop to think that the master manipulated everything that occurred in this place, or how each and every situation was part of a master game plan. Harm only felt confusion and revulsion at his own uncontrollable reactions.

"Please, master ... I can't breathe," Harm whispered. The master lifted his head and pushed himself up with his arms, and hovered over Harm. He gazed down at him, noticing a tear trickling down the side of his nose.

"Aww, what's the matter, sweet boy?" the master asked, leaning his weight on one hand so he could wipe the tear away with his thumb.

Harm refused to turn his head or look at him. "N-nothing." He was determined not to tell his master what was going through his mind. Inside though, he thought, 'damn you to hell.'

"Don't fucking lie to me," the man warned. "Besides, you're lousy at it." He pushed himself backward, his spent cock slipping out of Harm's sore body, and got up off the cot.

Harm's strained thigh muscles continued to spasm, the discomfort becoming distracting. "I'm hurting, master," he sighed. "Could you let my legs down, please?" Harm hoped that would deflect him from suspecting what he really wanted to say.

"Of course, sweet boy, just as soon as I'm dressed," the master promised. He proceeded to put his clothes and boots back on. Harm had no choice but to wait patiently. He wanted so badly to be freed from the restraints, to give in to the exhaustion that was overpowering him, and to just stop thinking about any of this for a while. Finally, the master unhooked one ankle cuff from the chain and released Harm's leg, which fell to the mattress with a thud. Harm groaned, as his master moved around him to release his other shackle. Another groan came from Harm, as his master held his foot and helped lower it until his leg straightened out. His wrists were freed next.

Harm was feeling the ache of pulled muscles. He lay motionless, with one forearm draped over his eyes, too weary to concern himself with anything at the moment.

The master left to go get a blanket. By the time he came back with it, he saw that Harm had passed out, and decided not to wake him. They would talk tomorrow. Harm belonged to him in every way, of that he was certain. He noticed some drying cum that still remained on Harm's chest, so he retrieved a cloth from the sink and gently wiped it off. Harm never stirred. Then the man draped the blanket over Harm's sleeping form, and switched the light off on his way out.

***

The following day, after Harm was properly cleaned up, he was left alone to wait for his master's arrival. After the young assistant departed, Harm had padded over to the sink and gotten a drink of water. Since he had earned free rein of the locked room that kept him prisoner, he also brushed his teeth, realizing he never got to do that the night before. He didn't even remember his master leaving, only that he couldn't stay awake after the powerful orgasm that had been wrenched from him. When he did finally wake, he was alone in the dark with a blanket covering him.

Harm sat on his cot now while he waited, stretching and kneading his sore, aching muscles. His mind kept going over the events that had taken place the night before. 'God, what have I become?' he thought miserably. His conflicted thoughts alternated between beating himself up mentally and rationalization of his actions. On the one hand, he should have been stronger, resisted more, not giving in to what his body seemed to need. That sick bastard somehow pushed all the right buttons, and Harm's body responded to what his mind didn't want and couldn't grasp. He didn't want any of this, of that he was certain. It made him feel helpless and weak to know that the master was able to make him doubt himself, even doubt his manhood. On the other hand, he reasoned that he had no choices, that it was useless to resist, and it was, after all, a matter of survival. Harm had been yanked into this endless nightmare, still not understanding why it was happening to him. He wondered if it would ever end, how much more the master would take from him, and how much longer could he go on doing this.

Slowly, an idea dawned on Harm, as his thoughts jumbled back and forth. It wasn't about his sexual orientation at all. The master was a twisted pervert and a predator, but no amount of forcing or brainwashing was going to make Harm a homosexual. It was all about power and control. The master had the power and the ability to make Harm do whatever he wanted. Harm ventured a guess that the man was indeed obsessed with him. He was at times generous, affectionate, and even caring. Maybe he needed Harm to return those feelings, to feel wanted, or maybe Harm was merely a possession. Perhaps this was more personal than Harm ever imagined, but then again, it was probably all just a giant mind fuck game, orchestrated by an expert manipulator. He could not be sure which was true, but he had to find the strength to keep playing along, whatever the game was. Harm only knew that things were not always as they seemed, and he hoped that he would be able to trust his instincts. At least this gave him a purpose, something to focus his mind on, other than numbness and despair. He had to bide his time.

Harm managed to get his feelings under control, carefully guarding them deep inside. By the time the master arrived, he was sitting cross-legged, rocking back and forth. When Harm heard the door, he looked over to it, but made no move to jump up.

The master walked in to find Harm sitting and slowly rocking himself. Although Harm's eyes were focused on him, his expression was blank. He observed Harm closely, trying to read him. Harm did not get up, he just continued that damn rocking of his. The master took note that Harm's eagerness to please and obey him seemed to be missing at the moment, but he chose to ignore that for now.

"Hello, pretty boy," the master said lightly. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm okay, master," Harm answered sullenly, his eyes intently holding his master's gaze.

The man thought he saw a hint of anger, maybe even hatred, in Harm's intense expression. He sat down on the cot at the opposite end from Harm. Harm stopped rocking now.

"How do you want me, master?" Harm asked innocently, as he unfolded his legs. He was ready to get up on his knees if that was what his master wanted.

"Not yet. Just stay there," the man dismissively waved Harm off. Harm leaned back against the wall, legs spread. He brought one knee up and leaned his elbow on it, giving the appearance of being quite relaxed. The master smirked at Harm. "Let's have one of our little chats, except this time I'll do the listening."

Harm gave the man a confused, questioning look, so his master explained.

"I really enjoyed our time together yesterday, and you certainly seemed to also, as I recall." The master noticed Harm flush uncomfortably and continued. "But since then, I have the feeling that something is bothering you, and I insist you tell me what it is." His tone turned deadly serious. "Talk to me, boy."

Harm fidgeted a bit, his face impassive. Then he leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on his master's eyes. He had to give the man something, a tiny piece of what went through his mind. "I'm not gay ... I'm *not*," he said quietly, but adamantly. They stared at each other for several seconds, until Harm couldn't take it any longer and looked away.

Suddenly, the master pealed with laughter. "That what's worrying you? Are you afraid that I'm trying to turn you into …? Shit! Even I don't have *that* kind of power." The man could tell by Harm's glare that Harm did not like being laughed at. "Oh, I'm not making fun of you, baby. It's just that you slay me sometimes," he explained. "Look, I know you're strictly into women. Hell, I prefer fucking them myself when I have the choice, but I also do whatever it takes to accomplish my mission. I used any and all methods at my disposal to break you and make you mine. I've achieved my goals quite successfully, if I do say so myself." He laughed again.

Harm absorbed his master's words and he was stunned by the man's ego, though he was careful not to show it. Harm wondered if the man revealed more than he intended to by what he said, or if he could even be believed at all. Also, it was the way the master spoke that sounded so much like another similarly arrogant prick that Harm had the misfortune of crossing paths with in his past. Harm couldn't believe the thought never occurred to him before now. The master reminded him of Clark Palmer. After all, Palmer was a sick, evil bastard that had been bent on vengeance against Harm for years. Harm wondered if there could possibly be a connection between the two men, or if it was all just coincidence. There was no way to know for sure. The master was very dangerous and ruthless, perhaps in the same league as Palmer, and Harm would have to be extremely careful to continue playing the man's game and survive, yet keep what little was left of his sanity.

"Am I boring you, boy?" the master interrupted Harm's thoughts, as he put his hand on Harm's forearm. He noticed that Harm seemed to have drifted off into his own world.

"Uh ... no, master ... not at all," Harm replied, his blank expression in place. His conflicting thoughts were overwhelming him and he would have to wrestle with his inner turmoil later. Right now, he needed to focus all his attention back on his master. Harm knew that there would be serious consequences if he slipped up and angered the volatile man.

"You know, I'd like to think we've reached a level of trust with each other that goes both ways," the master said, quietly serious. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"No ... I don't think so, master," Harm answered, looking perplexed.

"Do you trust me?" the man asked point-blank.

Harm paused and fidgeted at the loaded question, looking down at his feet. The master still scared him more than anything else. "I ... don't know. I'm afraid of you."

"Well, I trust you. I can always depend on your honesty, my boy," the man said gently. "I'm willing to give you what I can. Don't I take good care of your needs?"

"Yes, master," Harm replied, not looking up. He started playing with the cuff of one of his socks.

"I'm so glad we had this little chat," the master said, as he reached out and rubbed Harm's knee. Harm tensed up, fraught with conflicting emotions. It was too difficult to deal with the turmoil within him. He needed to wipe his mind clear, to go numb, in order to do this. It was the only way. Harm looked his master in the eye.

"I want you now, sweet boy," the master's eyes gleamed. He stood up to take off his cardigan sweater and undo his pants. His voice became low and insidious. "Just lie back. I'm going to fuck you."

The master's tone chilled Harm to the core. Harm slid down onto his back, his feet apart on the mattress, both knees up. He took a deep breath. 'I can do this,' he told himself, but he couldn't stop trembling. There were no pillows and no shackles this time. Harm lifted his head to see his master coming towards him.

The man slid his pants down his hips, pulled out his stiffening member, and kneeled between Harm's feet. Harm's head fell back against the mattress, as he felt his master's hands pushing against his knees.

"Bring your knees up to your chest," the master instructed, and Harm complied with a sigh. The man whipped out the lube and smeared it on his own cock, coated his fingers, and quickly prepared Harm's hole. Tossing the tube aside, he got between Harm's legs and leaned over him. His hardness nudged at Harm's entrance. He felt Harm relax, giving in to him, as he slowly eased himself inside.

Harm closed his eyes as his body went limp. There was no point in resisting anyway. He could feel his master's cock filling him, then pause for several moments, holding still. Harm's hands gripped at the mattress, as the man started a gentle rocking motion, slowly sliding in and out of Harm's tight passage. His master's breathing quickened, but his thrusting kept the same languid pace, and Harm drifted, not thinking or feeling anything. After a couple more minutes, the thrusting stopped. Harm opened his eyes to find his master hovering above him, glaring coldly down at him.

"Well, if you're just gonna lie there and be a lousy fuck, it's not as much fun for either of us," he remarked. The look on Harm's face could only be described as a deer caught in the headlights expression.

"Um ... I'm sorry," Harm blurted out. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Active participation was not something he was prepared to wrap his mind around.

The master raised up slightly, his hard cock still buried in Harm. Harm's legs were wide apart, knees still bent, but his feet had come down and rested on either side of the man. "Put your feet up over my shoulders," said the master. Once Harm complied, the man resumed thrusting with renewed vigor, plunging deeply into Harm. At this angle, he found Harm's prostate, making Harm groan.

"Oh, yeah, that's much better," the master sneered, quickening his rhythm.

Harm moaned, quickly losing any semblance of control. His master's dick was stroking that magic spot again, causing unbelievable pleasure to surge through him. "Oh-god," he gasped, as his cock grew hard. Harm didn't want to feel this way, but he couldn't help himself. He had to have more, and he no longer cared how. Harm lost himself in the sensations, as his brain shut down, and another part of his anatomy took over.

"Fuck ... I gotta ..." Harm rumbled, as he arched up and bent his head back. He brought his hand down between their bodies and began stroking his throbbing cock, as his master continued his smooth rhythm. Harm panted through parted lips, his eyes open but unfocused.

"Yeah, that's it, baby," the master encouraged, dropping his head to nip at Harm's nipples. Watching Harm's reactions excited him more. With every smooth thrust of the man's cock, Harm pumped his own shaft, matching the same tempo. With every deep, low-pitched grunt and groan from the master's throat, Harm emitted moans and wails that got higher and higher in pitch. Both of them were covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing heavily, drawing closer to the peak of ecstasy. The master was relentless in his taking of Harm's ass, prodding his prostate, arousing Harm into a state of primal need.

"Ohhh! ... I'm gonna ... Aaahh!" Harm yelled as he reached the point of no return, pulling on his aching hardness. He stiffened, all of his muscles clenching, as he surrendered to his need for release. Without any awareness of doing so, Harm threw his free arm around his master's neck, pulling the man down to him, then bucking his hips up to meet the man's pounding thrusts. Harm screamed and held on tight, as he rode out the first waves of his crashing climax.

"Yes, yesss ... come for me, sweet boy," the master growled, pumping harder, feeling Harm's muscles clenching around his cock, watching Harm's face. Harm was basking in his orgasm, mouth open, panting, as the spasms slowly subsided. Harm's cum had landed all over his master's belly. The older man reached up and cupped his hand behind Harm's neck.

"Look at me, boy," the master said, tightening his grip on the back of Harm's neck. Harm's eyes flew open to find his master's face looming over him. The master never broke his rhythm as he neared his own release, grunting the words out as he thrust. "You are mine. You will belong to me forever. You will always remember our times together here and how I'm the one who made you come so good. No matter who you fuck or how you come, it will be my face you see. I will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Harm's eyes grew wide with shock at the man's frightening words. He tried to pull away, but he was trapped under the man's weight. He wanted to look away, but he was caught in his master's firm grip and intensely glaring eyes. Harm could do no other than return his fixed gaze, while the meaning of the man's haunting words sank in.

With a final deep thrust, the master's release was imminent. He groaned, and abruptly pulled out, never taking his eyes off Harm's bewildered face. Grasping his cock with his own hand, he milked his seed from his pulsing climax, the semen splashing all over Harm's genitals and belly. Finally, he straightened up, pushing Harm's legs off his shoulders. Harm's legs fell to either side of him. The man remained on his knees, leaning back and catching his breath.

"Ahh, fuck, that was good, wasn't it?" the master grinned. Harm didn't want to admit to the fact that, when he was lost in the moment, it had felt amazing. However, immediately afterwards, he felt such guilt for letting go and disgust for allowing his master to wrench another climax from him. Harm did not want to answer, to agree with the man, but he dared not disagree.

"I suppose ... there's no such thing as a bad orgasm," Harm replied as non-committally as possible. This brought forth a hearty chortle from his master.

"I just love your sense of humor, boy," he shook his head and paused. "Actually, there's a lot of things I like about you ... but I can't let that become a problem."

The master's cryptic remark disturbed Harm, but there was no time to dwell on it.

"Give me your hands," ordered the man, as he reached out with his own. Harm reached up, his master clasping both his hands and yanking him up to a sitting position, directly in front of the kneeling man. "Lick me," he commanded, running his hand through Harm's hair. Harm stared at his master's softened member. "It's your cum on me, now clean it off, boy," the master said firmly. Harm glanced upward and saw the globs of semen on his master's belly. He leaned forward, carefully avoiding his master's cock, and touched his tongue to the man's skin. His master looked down, watching him with a smirk. He was so pleased with the level of Harm's obedience, getting Harm to do just about anything he wanted without hesitation. Harm dutifully licked his way across the man's abdomen and stomach. The feathery flicks of Harm's tongue felt ticklish, making his master squirm, his skin quivering. When the man couldn't take any more, he pushed Harm away, smiling, and said, "Enough."

The master was satisfied there were no traces left on his belly, other than the moisture from Harm's tongue, so he stood up, hitched up his pants, and headed for the door. He glanced back at Harm.

"You're the best ... my special, sweet boy ... I'll see you later." With that, he walked out and locked the door, leaving Harm alone with his thoughts.

Harm immediately got up and went to the sink. He got the water running and gulped mouthfuls, spitting them back out. He grabbed his toothbrush and the small tube of paste, spending several minutes brushing his teeth. Leaving the water running, he took a long drink. With soap and a sopping wet washcloth, Harm proceeded to wash his face, then his chest, moving down to his belly. He cleaned off his master's drying semen, scrubbing at his skin until it turned pink. He then thoroughly cleansed his penis and scrotum until all traces of the man's ejaculate were gone. Next, after rinsing out the cloth, he repeated the entire process to rinse away the soap. Harm also had to reach between his legs and wipe away any lube that always oozed out of him. Near the end of his ritual, he pissed in the pail, wrung out the cloth one more time, hung it from the edge of the sink, washed his hands, and grabbed a fresh towel to dry himself off. Finally, Harm dampened a sponge, turned off the water, and padded over to his cot, where he wiped down the plastic covering of the mattress. Satisfied that he was finished, he returned the sponge to the shelf over the sink.

Harm finally settled down on his cot, weak and exhausted. His already fragile, broken mind was too far-gone to make any kind of sense of the things the master had said. Otherwise, he might have somehow been aware of the thorough extent of control the master had on him. The master's systematic and pervasive brainwashing techniques had taken their toll. It was impossible to keep hanging onto even a small shred of hope, just to have it dashed again and again. Harm allowed his emotions to catch up with him, giving in to the feelings of anguish and despair. He leaned his elbows on his thighs, and dropped his head into his hands. He wept softly for several minutes, mourning the loss of the life he once had and would never have again. He succumbed to his grief and torment, feeling worthless, isolated, and so alone.

The master secretly observed Harm from the next room, watching him through the one-way glass. Harm was sitting there, looking so sad and forlorn. When Harm buried his face in his hands and started weeping, it was almost enough to break even the coldest, cruelest heart. The man watched this for quite some time, until Harm finally lay down and curled up, hugging himself. Harm eventually cried himself to sleep. The master sighed, hoping that Harm had gotten it all out of his system. He realized Harm was a bit more stubborn than he originally thought. Harm had not quite been able to totally let go. He had fought valiantly to hold on to his sanity, but he had to realize he could not possibly win. The master just needed a little more time to complete the ultimate mind fuck game, and Harm just needed a little more time to accept him without reservation. For now, he would let Harm sleep for as long as he needed.

Hours later, Harm awoke. Starving, he wondered how long he had been out. The light was still on. He assumed that he would have been woken up for dinner and the evening session, but now was afraid he had been allowed to sleep through and miss it entirely. He cursed to himself, and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. Harm rocked himself, waiting, thinking.

In a moment of clarity, Harm came to a decision. He didn't have it in him anymore to resist. He could no longer deny what he had become, what his purpose was. There was nothing outside of these walls, no one other than his master, no other life, no escape, no freedom. This was all he knew and there was a strange security in that somehow. This was his world and he had to make the best of it. His master took much from him, demanded more, but cared for him too. Harm came to the realization that he needed to give something in return, to give his master what he wanted, without fear of punishment, without being ordered, or threatened, or even asked. He knew that the man wanted his total devotion, and he would have to pretend to give it, or be prepared to die trying. In doing so, he would protect the people he had loved, and they would move on with their lives. Harm accepted that he would never see them again, could never return to their world after what he had been reduced to. His place was here. He had nowhere else to go, and it was pointless to keep hoping for freedom. With calm determination, he decided the only release for him was death. Until then, his existence would revolve around his master and nothing else mattered. Now that Harm was ready to truly accept his fate, a sense of tranquility came over him.

Harm successfully emptied his mind of all thought, except for wondering if his master was going to come back soon. Although he was extremely hungry, he didn't let himself hope too much. He could survive the night without nourishment. Harm wondered how late in the day it was.

The master had checked on Harm periodically as he slept. Harm had no inkling of being observed through what appeared to be an ordinary mirror on the wall. When he saw that Harm was indeed awake, he figured Harm must be anxious for something to eat, as it was quite a bit later than usual. When he stepped through the doorway, Harm jumped up off the cot and seemed relieved to see him. He was empty-handed, however, but if Harm was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"I was just checking to see if you were awake," said the master. "You seemed to need the rest, so I didn't want to disturb you."

Harm thought that seemed considerate of him. "I wouldn't have minded if you woke me, master. I'm ... glad to see you."

"Yeah, right," the man snorted. "You were just waiting for me to bring you something."

Harm shook his head, his expression earnest. "No, I was afraid something had happened to you, and then I would be all alone." He shifted his weight nervously.

"Really? Your concern is touching," the master said facetiously. He now stood directly in front of Harm, and Harm lowered his eyes submissively. The older man put his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You really did miss me?"

Harm merely nodded, still looking down at the floor. He made a tentative move, leaning forward and easing his hands slowly past his master's ribcage, sliding them around to his back. Harm bent his head down and rested his cheek on the man's shoulder, his lips pressed into his neck.

The master was surprised by the unexpected gesture of affection, but recovered instantly. He stepped into Harm's embrace, wrapping his arms around him, and pulled Harm against him in a full body hug. He rubbed Harm's back, and Harm held on tight, sighing against his neck. At least a minute ticked by and Harm made no move to let go. He seemed content to stay there and be held. The master felt Harm's lips occasionally nuzzling into his neck, brushing his skin.

The master shifted his weight, realizing how heavily Harm was leaning against him. He patted Harm's back, then released the embrace, and still Harm held on. Though it felt so good, the entire display had definitely caught the older man off guard.

"Okay, okay, enough already," the master said gruffly, gripping Harm's shoulders and pushing him back a step.

Harm dropped his arms down. "I'm sorry, master," he whispered, his eyes shining.

The master cupped Harm's face with both hands. "Don't be." He looked at Harm's parted lips, resisting the urge to kiss them. Instead, he broke away and changed the subject.

"How about I go see if I can scrounge up something from the kitchen?" asked the master.

"Um ... okay." Harm perked up. Thinking his master had forgotten, Harm had given up on the likelihood of a meal.

"Be patient. It might take a few minutes."

"Yes, master. Will you be able to join me?"

The master was startled by Harm's bold question. "Is that a request?"

"I just wondered ... maybe ... I wouldn't have to eat alone ... I mean ..." Harm stammered awkwardly. He had never seen the man partake of anything other than the ever-present bourbon.

"I had dinner earlier, but I'll keep you company while you have yours, if you want."

"Okay." Harm gave his master a hint of a smile. "That would be nice."

The master returned with the tray a short while later to find Harm already sitting at the table. The eager look on Harm's face made him smile, and he set the tray in front of him.

"Dig in, my boy. It's potato soup."

Harm wasted no time attacking the generous bowl of hot soup. The broth was thick and creamy white with ample chunks of potato and other vegetables.

"Mmmm, it's good," Harm mumbled between mouthfuls. He noticed the tray also contained a single glass of his master's bourbon and something else, a store bought plastic bottle. Harm eyed the label curiously. It was a yogurt smoothie, mixed berry to be exact. That sounded delicious. Harm marveled at his good fortune, a hot, filling soup *and* a sweet dessert.

The master sat nearby, leaning back in his chair, relaxing. He sipped his drink, watching Harm. He was not in a talkative mood, however, so the only sound was that of Harm slurping from the bowl. When Harm finished that, the master nodded at him and pointed to the bottle. "Shake it up first," he said.

Harm did so and unscrewed the plastic cap. He drank the tasty, thick liquid, relishing every gulp. Afterwards, Harm felt pleasantly filled and satisfied.

"Thank you, master," said Harm. "I feel a lot better now." He smiled shyly at his master, and felt an impulsive urge to show him how grateful he felt.

"You're welcome, baby. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I did ... and ... I really appreciate it." Harm leaned forward, then hesitated. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do, only that he needed his master's approval. "Permission to get up, please?"

"Granted," the master replied, looking at Harm curiously.

Harm slid off his chair and onto his knees in front of the older man. Kneeling between his master's legs in a submissive position, he placed both hands on the man's thighs. Harm stretched, leaning in towards his master's face.

The master was startled, but kept his expression carefully guarded. This unsolicited display was the last thing he expected. He guessed that Harm was intending to kiss him. Happy to oblige, he leaned forward so that Harm could reach his mouth. Their lips were very close, but he allowed Harm to take the initiative, waiting to see where it went.

Harm closed his eyes, then tipped his head slightly to the side. His lips made contact, brushing feathery light across his master's lips. Using only his lips and barely touching, Harm deposited soft, tiny kisses from one corner of his master's mouth to the other. He then continued a trail along the man's jaw line and down to his neck, where he nuzzled and gently nibbled on the skin.  
Harm slid back down to his master's lap, laid his cheek carefully on the man's leg and sighed.

The master was rendered speechless by the profoundly tender moment. He had never been kissed quite like that before. He gazed down at Harm, petting his head and stroking his cheek. Harm's hand was still on his other thigh and it began to move back and forth, lightly caressing him. He could get used to this side of Harm, all needy and affectionate. His slave boy continued to amaze him and he was becoming absolutely addicted to him. They remained that way for several quiet minutes. Finally, the master cleared his throat.

"You should get up from the floor," he said, patting Harm's shoulder.

Harm raised his head and looked up at him. "Okay." This position was hurting his back and his knees. He slowly pulled himself up off his knees and straightened. His master stood up as well.

"It's getting late," said the man.

Harm touched his master's arm. "Isn't there anything you'd like me to do?"

"No, baby, not tonight." It sounded like there wasn't going to be an evening session, or even their ritual chat on the cot.

"You don't have to leave yet, do you?" Harm implored. He did not want to be alone, as strange as that seemed to him.

"I'll be back in a minute." The master turned to the door. "By the way, I don't want you stumbling around in the dark. Would you like to have a night light?"

Harm looked surprised by the question. "Yes, please. That would be nice."

The master returned momentarily with blankets and pillows. He plugged the night light into a wall outlet near the sink, turned it on and then dropped his bundle on the cot where Harm was waiting for him.

Harm grabbed his hand. "Can you stay with me a little longer?"

"All right, but just for a little while," he relented. As soon as he sat down, Harm scooted over and laid his head on his lap. He put his arm around Harm's shoulder, and felt him shiver. "You're cold."

"It's okay," Harm sighed. "Just hold me."

The master smiled to himself. He was tired, but this felt really good. In the silence, he thought about what gift he could give to Harm. Christmas was only days away, and he wanted to come up with something special. He would make it special for both of them. He felt Harm shiver again and tried to move out from under him. Harm clung to his leg.

"Please don't go," Harm said anxiously.

"Shhh, not going anywhere yet, just wanna get you warmed up." The master went and switched off the main light, casting the room in the soft, faint glow of the night light. He threw the two pillows against the wall. "Lie down." Harm got on his back, watching him. He opened both blankets and spread them over Harm. Next, he sat down and pulled off his boots. "Scoot over." Harm moved to the edge. The master got up, and slid in under the blankets, fully clothed, next to Harm. He lay on his back, his head propped against the pillows, and there was just enough room on the narrow mattress if Harm lay right against him.

Harm rolled onto his side, snuggling tightly into his master. He laid his head on his master's chest, wrapped an arm across his stomach, and threw his leg over the master's leg. For the first time in a long time, Harm felt safe and warm and cared for.

The master pulled the blankets up and tucked them under Harm's chin, then kissed him on top of his head. This felt incredible, better than he had dreamt possible. When he had first started this plan, he had been filled with hatred, seeking revenge. Now he found himself actually liking, even caring about this remarkable man.

Harm stirred. "I'm yours," he murmured. "You are my master and I belong to you."

The master was delighted and moved by Harm's words. He never would have imagined he'd end up feeling this way about anyone. "Oh, sweet baby, you *are* mine. You're my precious, precious boy."

The master's declaration touched Harm as well. He had finally come to realize that acceptance was so much easier than resistance. This was his reality, the only one he had, and he would hold onto that. Nothing else existed. With that, Harm squeezed his master tighter, and made a muffled sound into the man's chest. His master responded by kissing him on top of his head again and caressing his face. Harm tilted his head up so that his lips nuzzled the man's cheek. His master's eyes were closed, but he turned his head towards him. Harm captured his master's lips in a tender, yet lingering kiss. Neither man felt any urgency, just a sweet innocence somehow. Harm broke it off and laid his head back down with a deep sigh.

"Go to sleep," the master grumbled. He decided it wouldn't hurt to stay until Harm fell asleep.

"Yes, master." Harm closed his eyes, feeling cozy and content. Things so often are not what they appear to be, he thought. He had at first been convinced that the master was the embodiment of pure evil. Now he had seen a different side of him, which led him to believe the man was much more complex than he originally thought. It was certainly better for Harm if he could keep on his master's good side, so he had make sure to keep him happy.

After a few minutes, Harm realized his master had drifted off. He listened to his deep, regular breathing, and fell asleep soon thereafter.

***

The master was contemplating the turn of events from the previous night. He had woken up in the middle of the night with Harm sprawled all over him, sound asleep. He had managed to extricate himself from the cot without waking Harm and left to go to the comfort of his own bed. Shaking his head, he realized he had taken a risk falling asleep like that. The door was unlocked and Harm could have walked right out and made his escape. Thankfully, he didn't though, and the man wondered if the thought even occurred to Harm. He supposed he would never know. However, he decided Harm really had earned his trust, and wanted to reward him. He looked at the clock. It was nearly noon, and he should go down to the basement and check on him.

Harm had also awoken sometime in the night to find he was alone, wondering when his master had left, and how he managed to sleep through it. As much as he didn't want to leave the warm bedding, he had to relieve a need before trying to go back to sleep. The night-light was a comfort to him as he made his way to the bucket. Since he was at the sink anyway, he got a drink of water as well, then stumbled sleepily back to his cot. He was oblivious to everything until the fair-haired young assistant roused him for the morning routine.

The boundaries of the unique relationship between master and slave had changed yet again, and so a new routine developed over the next several days, one of comfortable familiarity. Harm was everything the master could hope for, devoted, docile, eager to please, openly affectionate, needy, trusting, and honest. He seemed to have a sense of calm that he didn't have before. In return, the master was patient, comforting and kind in his own gruff way.

The master still fucked Harm every day, except now it was always face-to-face, instead of from behind. The master tried to be considerate, taking Harm at a leisurely pace, and making him come as well. There were times, however, when the master got carried away and was anything but gentle. He enjoyed it even more when he fucked Harm hard and rough, leaving Harm with bruises and bite marks and throbbing with pain.

Each of them learned what worked best for the other in exploring the pleasures of their bodies. Harm had become adept at bringing his master off, both orally and with his hands. He allowed himself to get lost in the moment when they were fucking, and his master grew quite accustomed to him being insecure and needy of his attention the rest of the time. One consistent fact was that Harm never got excited in anticipation of getting fucked, and got hard only as a result of direct physical stimulation. Whenever his master was able to bring him to climax, it was, if nothing else, a much needed stress reliever.

Harm got used to spending several hours a day with his master. The more time that he wasn't alone, the easier it was on him, and he would try to stretch their sessions out as long as possible. When he was with his master, his focus was entirely on him, pleasing him, making him happy. He was able to empty his mind of anything else. When he was left alone, it was harder to stay numb, to block out all thoughts. Being emotionally anesthetized was a good thing, and his goal was to stay that way all of the time. How he felt physically, however, was an entirely different matter. Harm was nearly always cold, tired, achy, and sore. He was becoming thinner, and often felt weak and weary.

Harm was acutely aware of the daily pattern, which changed little from day to day. Although he never knew what time it was specifically, he still always saw the assistant first. Harm guessed that the young man usually arrived around mid-morning. He never had much luck engaging him in conversation, though, the kid being all business, preparing him for the day.

The master would first visit Harm in the afternoons. Even then, Harm always smelled booze on his breath. Harm wondered how long his master had been an alcoholic, and if he had hangovers in the mornings. The afternoon sessions were always about sex, tiring them both out. The master would disappear shortly after, leaving Harm to clean himself up as best he could and to nap until supper. Harm sometimes wondered what his master did the rest of the time when he wasn't there with him.

The evenings varied somewhat. Lately, the master had been bringing Harm's nourishment personally. Afterwards, the master would occasionally be up for another go around, but more often than not, they ended up spending several hours together in simple conversation. The master did most of the talking, giving his opinions on a wide variety of subjects of mostly a hypothetical nature. He seemed genuinely interested in learning what made Harm tick, so at times, he'd ask for his opinions. Harm didn't mind the philosophical discussions at all. Sometimes, he could even ask his own questions, though he quickly learned that if his master chose not to answer, it meant to consider that particular subject off-limits.

One such conversation came to mind.

The master was sitting on the cot, leaning against the wall with pillows propped behind his back. He had stretched out, legs crossed at the ankles. Harm was lying alongside of him, an arm draped across the man's stomach, head tucked against the man's shoulder. The master was wearing a thick velour pullover and it felt soft against Harm's cheek.

"So, what's your favorite food?" the master asked. His hand was stroking Harm's head, running his fingers through Harm's hair.

Harm hesitated for a moment. He always considered his answers carefully, wondering if they would be what his master wanted to hear. "Um, anything you give me is fine, master."

"No, no, no, I mean if you could eat anything you wanted, what would you pick?" the man persisted. "You know, like on a special occasion or something, steak, lobster?"

Harm contemplated his response. "Actually, I don't eat meat."

"No shit, really?" The master peered at Harm. "I learn something new about you every day. Hey, I think some of the soups I've been feeding you have been made from beef broth and stuff like that."

"That's all right, master. Normally, I avoid dead animal flesh, but in desperate times ..." Harm's voice trailed off. He hoped he hadn't angered his master.

"You can't just live on salads though, can you? What foods do you like?"

"Well, of course I like most fruits and vegetables, pasta, veggie pizza, fish, Chinese food, lots of things. I've always tried to eat healthily. Oh, and I'm a pretty good cook. I make a mean veggie lasagna." Harm looked up into his master's face. "Maybe I could cook for you sometime."

"Hmmm, an interesting thought. I don't know, let me think about it."

***

The day before Christmas arrived.

The master had decided on his plans and made the arrangements, but they did not include telling Harm it was Christmas Eve. He was afraid Harm would do the math and figure out how long he had been kept here. He would rather Harm not know that, one of his ways to keep him off balance. No, he would give Harm his gifts and let Harm believe they were simply rewards for good behavior.

Also, the assistant with the long, dark hair had returned to his duties on the previous day, after completing the leave of absence his boss had imposed. The master made it clear to him that he would have to adjust his attitude and the other young man would be senior to him. The two young men were paid very well for their loyalty and discretion, so the dark haired man had begged for a second chance to work for the older man again. The master warned him that he was not to be alone in the room with Harm at any time, and that Harm had earned the right to be treated humanely. The master had given them both specific instructions for this morning's routine, including the fact that the light haired man was in charge and the other one was to take his cues from him.

The two assistants were talking as they made their way to the basement room.

"Things have changed since you left. If you want, you can just pretty much observe today," said the light haired one.

"Yeah, whatever, I'm cool."

The light haired man unlocked the door and they walked in. "I've been doing all this by myself and been pulling double shifts. I'm just glad you're here and I get tonight off."

Harm was already awake and heard what the assistant said as he entered the room. Wondering who he was talking to, Harm sat up and recognized the man with the ponytail. His expression was one of shock.

"Good morning," the light haired man said cheerfully.

"Mornin'," Harm mumbled. He got up quickly, folded his blanket, and took off his woolen socks. Then he dropped down and crawled over to the four poles, waiting between them on his hands and knees.

"Uh, I was about to tell you, your master wants you clean shaven today," the light haired man said. Harm stood back up, taking a step backwards so that he was between the two rear poles. He spread his feet apart, extended his arms, and wrapped one hand around each pole.

"You're not gonna rig him up?" The dark haired man was surprised and confused.

"It's a lot quicker this way, and easier to get him done all over," the light haired man explained.

"He's not even wearing the collar and leash."

"Don't need that either, trust me."

The dark haired man was incredulous. "Shit, you weren't kidding. Things have changed."

Harm kept his eyes focused on the drain in the floor between his feet while he was being discussed. The fair-haired young man put on a pair of latex gloves, and began smoothing the depilatory cream on Harm's skin. He first lathered Harm's face which was only just beginning to show signs of stubble, and worked his way down the front of Harm's body, the chest, belly, and then down throughout the entire pubic area. He carefully went around Harm's penis, but made sure to cover his scrotal sac and got it in between his legs as well. When he started on Harm's legs, the other young man came over and rubbed Harm's forearm.

"It hardly seems like it's needed," the dark haired man noted. "How long ago since you did him?"

"I dunno, a couple of weeks, tops. The boss wants him fresh today. He has his reasons." The light haired man had moved around to do the back of Harm's legs. After all this time, he had gotten to know Harm's pattern of body hair growth, so he skipped his back and shoulders and finished up by covering his arms, including his armpits. Finally, he stepped in front of Harm and made eye contact.

"You just keep hanging on there, okay?" He peeled off the gloves.

Harm nodded mutely at the young man.

"Does he ever talk?" the dark haired man questioned his coworker.

"Yeah ... only as needed," he answered patiently.

"Want me to hook up the hose?"

"Sure, but first run the hot faucet until the water gets warm." They finished making preparations for the next few minutes, killing time. "Okay, time to rinse." The fair haired man tested the temperature as it came out of the end of the hose, ensuring it was nice and warm, then simply held the hose over Harm's head.

Harm closed his eyes as the water cascaded over him. It poured down his face, washing the lotion away with it. The young man directed the hose to his shoulders, the water slowly soaking the length of Harm's body. The lotion made Harm itch and he wanted it off as quickly as possible. He let go of one of the poles, so that he could use his hand to rub at his skin in a downward motion to help everything run off of him faster. He rubbed at his chest, stomach and arm, then released his grip on the pole to rub down his other arm. The light haired man kept redirecting the flow of water from the hose until, finally, Harm was all rinsed off, the lotion and water swirling into the floor drain. Water dripped down Harm's face from his soaked hair, and he closed his eyes again. That was when he wavered.

"Whoa ... open your eyes, both hands on the poles." The fair-haired man caught Harm's unsteadiness immediately. Harm looked at him and stuck his arms out to the sides. The young man peered at Harm. "You doin' all right?"

"I'm ... okay," Harm replied, his fingers tightly gripping the metal supports.

"Why is he holding onto the poles so tight?" asked the dark haired man.

"So he doesn't wobble. He can't stand for very long without losing his balance," the light haired man explained, and turned his attention back to Harm. "Isn't that right?"

"Uh-huh."

The pony-tailed man interjected. "Well, he has lost weight, that's for sure." His associate ignored the comment.

"Hey, you're getting your hair washed today. I've got real shampoo," said the fair-haired man.

Harm looked up and gave him a weak smile. "Really? That's nice." His hair had been feeling greasy for so long and his scalp itched.

"Well, you're getting the royal treatment today," the young man smirked. "Would you like me to wash it for you or can you manage it yourself?"

"I think I can," Harm responded. The assistant brought a bottle of shampoo over to Harm.

"It might be safer if you kneel."

Harm nodded, sinking to his knees, his hands sliding down the poles as he did so. The young man doused Harm's head with more warm water, then poured some shampoo onto his hair. Harm scrubbed at his scalp with both hands, working up a lather. He could smell a citrus type fragrance. After he announced he was done, the light haired man held the hose over his head while he ran his hands through his hair until he was rinsed clean. It felt so good to have clean hair, he thought.

Harm opened his eyes to find the pony-tailed man standing in front of him, holding out a washcloth and a bar of soap. Most mornings, he had been given sponge baths while suspended from the harness, so this was different. Harm looked around to the light haired man for approval.

"Go ahead, it's the closest thing to a real shower we can give ya." The young man aimed the hose so that the water cascaded down the front of Harm's body. Harm reached out and took the items out of the dark haired man's hand.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," said the dark haired man, as he walked away.

Harm was quick, finishing within a couple of minutes. The young man had kept the water flowing over him until all traces of soapsuds went down the drain, then nodded to the dark haired man to turn off the faucet. Harm smelled fresh and clean, almost feeling human for a few moments. Then he remembered what was to come next, and became nauseous just thinking about it. Still kneeling, he put his hands back on the poles and hung his head, knowing he was about to get hoisted up in that dreaded sling. The light haired man crouched in front of him to make eye contact.

"Hey, you doin' all right?" The young man sounded concerned. Harm shrugged, saying nothing, but he looked miserable. He was dripping wet and shivering as well. The assistant looked over to his work partner. "Bring a pail, just in case." The pony-tailed man brought it quickly and put it on the floor nearby. The fair-haired man spoke gently now to Harm. "This sucks, I know, I know, but I have an idea. I hate having to haul you up in this harness just for your enema. We could do it right here, right now, and I'll be as quick as I can. The sooner this is over with, the sooner we can get you dried off."

Harm blinked and looked around the room. He saw that the dark haired man had retreated to the corner between the sink and the door.

"Don't worry about him," said the light haired man. "What do you say?"

Harm slowly nodded. "I'll try."

The young man stood up, and barked his order to his associate. "Both faucets. Now. I want lukewarm water." The pony-tailed man sprang into action. The light haired man pushed lightly on Harm's shoulder. "Knees apart. Lean forward and get all the way down, on your elbows."  
Harm obeyed immediately, his forearms resting on the wet floor.

The young man was true to his word. He swiftly completed the uncomfortable procedure, and the next thing Harm knew, it was over. Harm had managed to stay put, and to get through it without vomiting. This was always the worst part of the entire day for him, and he would never get used to it.

"Can you stand?" asked the light haired man. Harm lifted his head and groaned. On top of everything else, his knees were killing him. "Help me get him to his feet and to a dry area," the young man instructed the dark haired man, who was holding two towels at this point. They pulled Harm to his feet and led him to the front left pole, where he hung on with both hands, trembling.

"Th-the r-r-room is s-spinning," Harm stammered. He felt pretty shaky.

"You'll be fine. Just focus on the pole in front of you." Both young men began rubbing Harm down with the towels, starting with his head and working their way down his body.

"Yeah, hang on there. Everything's gonna be just peachy," the dark haired man added.

"Just p-peachy," Harm said softly. This was highly humorous to both of the assistants, as they snorted with amusement.

"You should see how he cracks the boss up," the light haired man said to his coworker.

"Do you think he likes me?" Harm looked at him in a daze, his damp hair spiked up in all directions.

The light haired man shrugged. "Well, if nothing else, he is thoroughly entertained by you. Okay, you're nice and dry. Go on now." Harm limped slowly back to his cot, where he found a clean pair of woolly socks waiting for him. He sat down and put them on, then pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around his knees. He watched them as he sat huddled in a ball.

The fair-haired man mopped all the excess water from the floor until it was barely damp, and the dark haired one neatly stowed all the supplies. As they worked, Harm could hear their conversation.

"Has he ever tried to escape?"

"Jeez, you are so full of questions today. No, he hasn't."

"Amazing. Why not?"

"He has plenty of motivation not to. He knows what would happen if he did." The fair-haired man glanced over at Harm, who was staring off into space and rocking slightly. He lowered his voice. "I don't think Chief is worried about it. They seem to be developing some kind of trust or something between them. At the rate things are going, don't be too shocked if Chief stops locking the doors someday, and his boy stays with him willingly. He rewards him with more and more privileges."

"Wow. How weird is that?"

"Well, tonight will be a big test, special occasion and all."

"Does he know?" the pony-tailed man asked, watching Harm rock, seemingly unaware of their presence.

"No clue. Keep it that way."

"He's pretty fucked up, isn't he?"

The light haired man nodded. "The boss has done a major mind fuck on him for sure. My guess is he hasn't got much of a mind left."

"No shit. So, are we done now?" The dark haired man looked around and glanced again at Harm.

"Yeah, let's go." The light haired man walked past the cot and got Harm's attention. "Your master has a lot to do today, so he will be several hours later than usual. You might as well take a long nap, okay?"

Harm stopped rocking himself and blinked at the young man. "Okay." He looked and sounded perplexed, but went ahead and lay down on his side, curling up in a fetal position. After the two men left, he wondered for a while how long he would be waiting.

Harm woke up some time later, thirsty, and feeling the need to brush his teeth and relieve himself, so he took care of all those urges. He wondered how long he'd been asleep, how much more time he'd have to kill while waiting. He felt fairly steady, so he stretched and paced around for a bit. Unable to clear the fog from his brain, he could remember only snatches of the conversation he had tried so hard to listen to earlier. Something about escapes and locked doors, which he hadn't thought about in a long time and didn't want to now. After all, there was no point in thinking about the impossible. Then he had heard something about rewards and tonight, and all he could think about was that, whatever was going to happen, he wouldn't fuck up.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continued in part (b)


	3. Harm's Punishment (Chapter 2b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Chapter 2 - Harm's Punishment.  
> This is Part b.

Chapter 2 - Harm's Punishment continues:

***

Christmas Eve at JAG Headquarters was, at best, subdued. There was not a whole lot of holiday cheer to be found among the staff. Despite the prevailing circumstances, or maybe because of them, Admiral Chegwidden made the decision to secure the staff early, so people could be with their loved ones. Not surprisingly, the majority of the personnel planned to join the Admiral at the Christmas Eve church service later that evening. The need for spiritual support, unity and fellowship was strongly felt. The Admiral was proud of the way his people pulled together in a crisis, working harder, covering the void left by Commander Rabb's absence. He had stalled as long as possible, but Rabb's replacement would be reporting for duty after the first of the year. He hated the thought, knowing that it would be perceived by all as giving up hope on the missing Commander.

Colonel MacKenzie was one of the last remaining people to wrap up the day, and she was in her office making final preparations to leave. Other than tonight's service, she had no plans, too depressed to make any. She felt so utterly alone. 'Where are you, Harm? Please, come back to me. I need you in my life.' Mac stifled a sob, determined not to crack under the pressure. She gathered up her coat, briefcase, and military issue purse, and turned to see Clayton Webb standing in her doorway.

"Hello, Sarah."

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"I came by to pick you up," Webb stated matter-of-factly.

"I don't understand. I didn't even know you'd be in town." Mac looked confused.

"I just got back, and I have the next few days completely free." He gave her a sincere grin.

"Um, don't you have any plans?"

"None ... except to spend time with you," Webb said hopefully.

"I don't think so. I'm afraid I will *not* be good company."

"I don't care, Sarah. I just want to be with you. I don't want you to be alone for this holiday. No one should be alone. I know I ..." His voice trailed off before he admitted he didn't want to be alone right now.

"Won't you be spending Christmas with your mother?"

"Oh, I'll probably go see her sometime tomorrow."

"Well, I've been invited to Christmas dinner at the Roberts. I'm not going though," she said sadly.

"Why not?"

"I just can't deal with it, okay?" Mac sounded flustered. "I gotta go."

"Please, Sarah, I don't want to be alone tonight. We don't have to do anything special. I just need your friendship." He knew he was babbling and sounding desperate, but he didn't care. Mac tried to walk past him. He reached out and touched her arm, stopping her. "Let me be there for you, please?"

"I'm going to the Christmas Eve service tonight."

"May I go with you?"

Mac shifted her weight and turned away. She didn't want him to see her face as she struggled to get her emotions under control. "Okay, okay," she finally relented. "I have some things to do first and I need to go home."

"Then I'll pick you up at your place. I won't take no for an answer," Webb grinned at Mac and she gave him a weak smile.

"Do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"With you? Apparently I do. Come on, I'll walk you out."

"Thanks, Clay, for putting up with me. I know it hasn't been easy for you either." Mac squared her shoulders, her tough Marine facade back in place for the moment.

"Don't worry, Sarah, we'll get through this together, too." Webb wasn't sure which one of them needed comfort and a strong shoulder more, he only knew he wanted to be with her and to be there for her tonight of all nights.

***

It was late afternoon by the time all of the master's preparations were in place. At last, everything was ready, and he was looking forward to spending quality time with the object of his obsession. He hurried down to the locked room.

Harm had been awake for some time, and waited anxiously. His master had never been this late before, and Harm wondered what was keeping him. When the man finally opened the door, Harm's relief was evident as he jumped up from his cot.

"Hello, sweet boy, I've missed you," the master said jovially, approaching Harm. Harm had jumped to his feet so quickly that he had a severe dizzy spell, falling to his knees in front of the man. He reached out and hugged his master around the legs, leaning hard against him, almost knocking him off balance. "Are you that glad to see me?" chuckled the man, as he patted Harm on the head.

Harm couldn't speak. He had landed hard on his already abused kneecaps, and the pain radiated through his bones. Not wanting his master to see the grimace on his face, he simply buried his head against the man's body and clung to him.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here now." The master gripped Harm by his arms, pulling him up to his feet. He thought he saw tears shining in Harm's eyes, before Harm suddenly threw his arms around his neck, chin resting on his shoulder. The man returned Harm's embrace, rubbing his back. He was quite pleased with how well Harm had been doing, and was greatly anticipating tonight's proceedings.

Harm took several deep breaths, teeth clenched, hoping his master wouldn't realize how much pain he was in. They stood quietly, pressed against each other for a minute or so.

"Come sit with me for a minute." The master led Harm over to the cot. Harm walked stiffly and slowly, trying hard not to limp or stumble. Once they were settled, the master continued. "I have a surprise for you, my boy." He watched Harm's reaction, and the expression was perplexed, but curious. "I'm taking you out of this room."

"Really? Why?" Harm asked nervously.

"Well, several reasons, actually. It's kind of a special day, and I want you to spend the whole night with me. I also have more special surprises for you. Not only do you get to sleep in a real bed, we're also going to have a real meal together, relax, and in the morning you can have an honest to goodness hot shower."

"Wow. I ... I don't know what to say." Harm couldn't help but wonder what he would have to do to earn these unexpected rewards. He just hoped it wouldn't be anything worse or too different from what he had been required to do so far. He wanted desperately to trust his master, so he pushed the nagging fear of an ulterior motive out of his mind, in order to go along with whatever came next.

The master sensed Harm's apprehension. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I have no reason to hurt you unless you give me a reason. Do you believe me?" Harm nodded his acceptance. "Good. Then let's get started. I'll be right back. Wait here."

"Okay." Harm stayed put while the man got up and left. He quickly rubbed his knees, willing the throbbing pain to dissipate. The master returned in less than a minute, carrying a dark maroon pillowcase and the chain collar and leash, leaving the door wide open.

"Get on the floor for me," the master commanded. Harm complied, sliding gingerly off the cot onto his hands and knees. "This is just a precaution, so don't be alarmed." The man proceeded to slide the pillowcase over Harm's head, effectively blindfolding him. He then slid the choke chain over the pillowcase until it was around Harm's neck, which held the makeshift hood in place. Not being able to see anything raised Harm's anxiety level and he began to breathe harder.

"You'll have to crawl behind me. Don't worry, I will guide you. Now ... come, boy." The master tugged on the leash and started walking toward the door. Harm followed behind him, listening for his footsteps, and staying right on his heels. When the master reached the staircase, he stopped. "We're going up some stairs now, boy. Stay low and use your hands to come up and feel each step." Harm reached out as the master started up the steps. He felt the tug of the leash and crouched down to climb with both hands and feet, knowing he was not to stand upright.

"All right, we're at the top, back on your knees." Harm could hear his master's boots on the floor and he felt the hard floor as well. They made a couple of turns and then Harm could feel carpeting under his hands and knees. He now smelled the odor of wood burning and heard the sizzling, crackling pops as well. As he continued forward, he felt a toasty warmth on his skin and then an even thicker, softer feeling under his hands and knees.

"Stop. We're here," the master said. Harm froze in position. "Sit." Harm turned over, plopping his butt down. "Hold your arms up." For the first time in Harm's captivity, the shackles were released from his wrists. He then felt his ankle cuffs being removed as well, and the chain being pulled off over his head. "You may take off the hood now." Harm pulled the pillowcase off and blinked as he looked up. The master took it from his hand, smiling down at him.

"Stay. I'll be back in a moment." He patted Harm on the head and walked across the room and out through a doorway. Harm rubbed his wrists and ankles, noticing the discolorations and the scars from the repeatedly abraded skin. It felt so liberating not to have those heavy metal bonds clamped on him, and he sighed contentedly at the unexpected relief. He crossed his legs, Indian-style, and put his hands on his knees, massaging them.

Harm looked around, taking everything in. It was a comfortable, cozy looking room, although dimly lit. Other than a small lamp in a corner, the fireplace and a hurricane lamp on a round table were all that bathed the room in a soft glow, yet, cast shadows. Harm stretched out his legs and leaned back, arms out behind him, resting on his hands. He looked down at what appeared to be a plush, dense, black rug beneath him made of some type of animal fur. He couldn't resist the urge to run his fingers over its softness. The fireplace was directly in front of where he was sitting, the dancing flames hypnotic to watch, and the heat felt wonderful. On either side of the large fireplace was floor to ceiling built-in cabinetry and shelves in a dark wood. One side contained a television set and various audio/video components, and the other side appeared to have lots of books. There were two bulky, upholstered chairs, one on either side of the round table nearby. Besides the oil lamp in the center, there were also two place settings, china, silverware, arranged for dinner, complete with stemmed glassware and linen napkins. To the other side of Harm was a recliner, facing the fireplace. Behind that, along the dark, wood paneled wall, were two tall windows, covered with heavy drapes, drawn shut. A large, overstuffed sofa was behind Harm, and along the other wall, near the far corner, was the only doorway leading out of the room. Harm turned his head back and forth, surprised by the entire room. He didn't know what he'd expected to see, but it definitely wasn't this. It was all very masculine in appearance, dark colors and heavy fabrics in deep maroons and hunter green, dark solid woods, an old world feel, yet with modern comforts. He turned his attention back to the fire in front of him, basking in its warmth and mesmerized by the flames.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" The master's voice startled Harm out of his reverie. Harm had not heard his approach, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He sat up stiffly, pulling himself into a ball.

"Y-yes, master." Harm wore a guilt filled expression. "I ... I was just watching the fire." His master hadn't told him to move, so he stayed where he was.

"Relax, relax," the master said gently. He picked up a remote control and pushed a couple of buttons. The stereo system came on and mellow jazz played softly in the background. "It's nice and warm in here, isn't it?"

"Mmm, feels good," Harm nodded. "This room is very nice."

"This place is old, but comfortable. What would you like to drink?" The question caught Harm off guard. This was all so different, so civil. With the passing of time under the master's control, he no longer had the ability to think for himself. He had reached a point where he had become incapable of making choices or any type of decisions.

"Uh, whatever you're having would be fine, master."

The man stepped through the doorway and Harm heard him call out to someone. "We'll take a couple of those special drinks that you've prepared now." He came back and sat on the sofa behind Harm. Harm wondered who the hell his master was talking to. Someone else was going to walk in here, and suddenly Harm felt self-conscious, sitting naked on a fur rug. He kept glancing furtively over to the doorway, which did not escape the master's attention.

The master thought about whether to allow Harm his moment of modesty, or if he should torture Harm by forcing him to display himself. He was, after all, breaking a rule by attempting to cover up. Harm had turned sideways so he could see his master from his location on the rug, but his legs were still folded up in front of him, an arm draped across his knees. Harm unconsciously started his rocking motion, and it occurred to the master that this was a nervous habit. He did this whenever he was agitated. Since the master did not want him upset any further, he decided to let it go and said nothing.

The person with the drinks arrived in the room. Harm recognized that it was the pony-tailed associate, and realized that at least it wasn't a new stranger to deal with. The young man carried two large mugs, giving one to the master first, then holding the other one out for Harm to take.

"Careful. It's hot, spiced cider," the dark haired man informed Harm. Harm took the mug gingerly, holding it by the handle.

"Thanks," Harm said shyly.

"Just let me know when you're ready for dinner," the young man addressed his boss. The master nodded at him as he left the room.

Harm leaned forward to enjoy his treat. He dropped his knees back down. While keeping one leg bent, he straightened the other out in front of him. The master leaned back into the sofa, observing Harm as he finally relaxed. He smoked a cigarette while they both sipped on the hot, potent liquid

"This is very good, strong too," Harm noted. The alcohol content was high and heating him up from the inside out.

"I wasn't sure if you'd like it," said the master. He was relaxed as well. They watched the fire and listened to the music for the next few minutes.

"This is nice," Harm said, wiggling his socked foot in time with the jazz rhythms. He was definitely feeling mellow, the alcohol on an empty stomach going right to his head. "Sure is different from the other music you've played."

"Oh, that. That was a custom mix done by my associate," the master chuckled.

"Let me guess ... the one with the pony-tail," Harm smirked.

"Ha! Lucky guess. Anyway, it served my purposes." The master shrugged, but his eyes were twinkling. He set his mug on the end table. "You done with that yet?"

Harm looked into his mug and grinned. "Nope, still got a little left."

"Come over here and join me," said the master, patting his leg. "I'll hold your drink for you." Harm stretched out and handed him the mug, then crawled over and kneeled between the man's legs.

"Phew, that's powerful stuff." Harm laid his head on his master's thigh, feeling very warm.

"I think you've had enough of this for now, at least until we get some solid food in you."

"Okay," Harm sighed. The master put Harm's mug on the table, then ran his hands through Harm's hair and groaned. Harm saw the noticeable bulge in his master's pants.

"How about an appetizer before dinner?" the master chuckled. Harm knew exactly what he meant. Without a word, Harm lifted his head and slid his hands up his master's thighs, over his straining erection, and unbuckled the belt. Soon, he had the man's hard cock out, licking and sucking it. The master watched him, keeping his hands on Harm's head. Harm worked the throbbing member with his mouth and his hands. He shone with perspiration, and he had his master panting and thrusting. Without warning, the man pulled Harm's mouth off his weeping cock. Harm stared at him, his face flushed.

"Don't you want me to finish?" Harm asked.

"Wait ... I need ... we both need ... some water," the master managed to get out. He stroked Harm's warm face. "Stay right here." He stood up, holding onto the waistband of his open pants and walked towards the doorway.

"Bring us two bottled waters, please!" he bellowed down the hallway, then turned around and came right back to the couch. He sat down, his cock at stiff attention.

"Stand up, boy. I want you where I can see you and touch you." Harm stood slowly in front of his master, between the man's knees. The look on his face was one of apprehension, knowing the pony-tailed man would walk in on them at any moment. The master laid his hands on Harm's hips, then slid his hands back to cup Harm's ass, pulling him closer.

"Lean forward and hold onto the back of the couch," the man instructed. Harm put his hands against the upholstery on either side of his master's head. This gave his master complete access to him. The man began caressing Harm's entire torso, hands sliding up over his belly, then his abs, and up to his chest. The smooth as silk skin quivered under the wandering fingers. He stroked his thumbs across Harm's nipples and they stiffened in response. The master looked up at Harm stretched out and hovering over him. "Do you have any idea how hot you make me?" Harm didn't answer, as he was distracted by the dark haired man entering, carrying the bottles of water.

The master pinched Harm's nipples, causing him to let out a small gasp. "Look at me, boy. Ignore him. Focus on me."

Harm looked down and met his master's glaring eyes. He was determined not to fuck up again. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his master. He had no shame left and it just didn't matter anymore. He would do whatever it took to keep his master satisfied, so he focused on what the man was saying.

"Spread your feet apart."

Harm obeyed. The master caressed him between his legs with one hand and stroked his cock with the other. Harm opened his mouth in a soft moan. At that moment, the dark haired man set the bottles down on the end table and retreated. Harm was thoroughly engrossed in what was happening with his master.

"Get hard for me," the master commanded, pumping Harm's cock firmly, as it sprang to life.

"Yesss," Harm hissed. "For you, master, anything for you." He leaned in further, tilted his head down, and kissed his master on the lips. Harm's mouth was open, his tongue probing tentatively. The master returned the kiss in full, sucking on Harm's tongue. Harm moaned into his master's mouth. His cock was not only hard, it was achingly hard. Harm's hips bucked on their own accord, his throbbing cock needing more. Without realizing it, he had moved his hands down to rest on his master's shoulders, as he arched and thrust into his master's hand.

The master abruptly released his hold on Harm's stiff member. Harm blinked at him, dazed and desperate.

"Please ... don't stop," Harm whined. He wanted to come and was tempted to jerk himself off. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the young assistant was standing in the doorway, watching them, but he didn't care anymore. Nothing else mattered as he concentrated on what his master was doing. The master grabbed a water bottle and gulped the cold liquid down.

"I wanted you hard for me. I control if and when you come," he explained. "Now finish me off."

"Yes, master." Harm carefully sank to his knees, his erection to be forgotten. He reminded himself that his sole purpose was for his master's gratification, his own pleasure was superfluous. Harm diligently went about sucking his master's cock. Harm could tell when he got close. It didn't take long. The master held Harm's head as he thrust up into his mouth, grunting as he came. Harm swallowed every drop, releasing his lips from his master's dick only after it stop pulsing. Harm felt warm and flushed, as he sat back on his heels.

"Did you enjoy the show?" the master called out, looking over his shoulder towards the doorway.

The dark haired man reappeared from the hallway, stepping into the room. "Yeah, I did," he smirked, "and a hot fucking show it was."

The master chuckled and handed Harm a full water bottle. "Here. You must be dying of thirst by now." Harm gratefully took the bottle and chugged the water, wondering how the hell his master knew that his assistant was present the entire time.

'He must have eyes in the back of his head. Nothing gets by him,' Harm thought.

The master recovered and tucked himself back in his pants. He looked at Harm, who was leaning back on his haunches, and asked, "Are you still hard for me?"

"No. It went away," Harm murmured softly, lowering his eyes. The master leaned forward and peered down at Harm's groin.

"So I see." He petted Harm's cheek. "I'll make it up to you later ... promise." Harm merely nuzzled into his master's palm. It made no difference to him, as long as it was what his master wanted. Harm was still thirsty. He tipped the bottle up to his lips and finished the rest of the water. "Get up, sweet boy." The master was smiling at him.

As Harm stood, the master addressed his assistant. "Take his empty bottle, then take my boy to the bathroom to freshen up for supper, and bring him back to me. Promptly."

Harm felt uneasy about being sent off with the pony-tailed man. He looked at his master nervously, as the young man gripped his upper arm to lead him away. The man nodded his encouragement, so Harm shuffled silently alongside the dark haired assistant. The doorway did indeed lead into a hallway, but before Harm could really look around, the young man swung open the first door they came to.

"Sure you wouldn't like some help?" the assistant asked with a smirk, as he released his hold on Harm's arm.

"I can manage," Harm replied quietly, carefully avoiding eye contact. He entered what was a small, simple powder room with basic fixtures, a sink vanity in a wooden cabinet, mirror, toilet, even a couple of shelves with small towels, a box of tissues, and a few other toiletries.

"I'm staying right on the other side of this door," announced the young man. "If you take too long, I'm coming in." Harm noted the door was held slightly ajar, but it was more privacy than he expected. Taking care of business quickly, he finished up by washing his hands and face with the soap he found, and dried off on a dark green towel. Glancing briefly in the mirror, he ran his hand through his hair, thinking how much he needed a haircut, which made him wonder how long had he been kept here. He hung the towel back on the towel ring.

"Uh ... I'm done." The door swung open, the dark haired man grabbed Harm by the arm and escorted him back to the living room.

The master was sprawled at one end of the sofa, relaxing. When he saw Harm, he broke out in a grin and held his arms out. "Ahh, there's my boy to keep me company. Come on up here," he said, patting the sofa cushion next to him.

Harm was relieved to see that his master was so happy. If they wanted a show, he would do his best to give them one. Smiling back at the older man, Harm broke away from the pony-tailed man, and hurried over to the sofa. He flopped down and curled up close against his master, wrapping an arm around his belly and laying his head on the man's chest. He heard his master's rumbling laugh against his ear.

The master put a comforting arm around Harm's shoulder, as Harm leaned into him. Harm was on his side with his legs bent. The master slid his hand down Harm's side and affectionately patted Harm's butt cheek.

"Do you need anything at the moment?" asked the young assistant, as he observed the two of them together.

"Well, someone here has had enough cider, I think," said the master. He began to caress Harm's hip. "Maybe you should just bring two large glasses of ice and some bottled water, for now." While his master spoke, Harm stretched his leg out straight along the length of the sofa, allowing the man better access to him. The entire time, Harm stared at the dark haired man. The master moved his hand to stroke Harm's belly and Harm responded by shifting his hip back and opening his legs, somewhat like a dog on display. The master rewarded him by teasing his smooth, hairless balls.

A soft, low growl came from Harm's throat. The young assistant turned on his heel suddenly and exited, but not before both Harm and his master noticed the bulge straining against his jeans. As soon as the coast was clear, the master erupted in a fit of laughter.

"Good boy!" He patted Harm's face with his other hand. Harm was actually having a hard time muffling a giggle, still a bit buzzed from the large mug of strong, hot cider. With a silly grin, he tilted his face up to see his master's twinkling eyes. It was a rare moment of levity to be relished.

"Woof," said Harm, as he lifted his head and impulsively slurped his tongue across his master's chin. This made the man chuckle again and he tickled Harm playfully across his belly, making Harm squirm. Within moments, the master's fingers became gentle as they lightly caressed over Harm's stomach and up to his chest. Harm quieted down, watching the expression on his master's face change from one of amusement and frivolity to one of pure tenderness and affection. Harm could do nothing more than hold his master's intense gaze, their faces barely an inch apart.

The master rubbed Harm's smooth chest, then let his hand wander back down, cupping it over Harm's genitals. With his other hand, he petted the side of Harm's face.

"Would you like to come now or wait until after dinner?" The master wrapped his fingers around Harm's shaft.

"Um ... whatever ... you prefer ... master," Harm whispered. He couldn't help himself as he arched up into the master's hand, his cock twitching with a life of its own. The master bent his head down to Harm's neck, and sucked on the side of his throat just below the jaw line, leaving his mark of ownership in the form of a purple bruise. Harm closed his eyes as his master stroked him to erection with one hand, and pinched his nipples to stiff peaks with the other. Harm's lips parted in a soft moan, as he allowed himself to float away in the sensations, lost in his need for his master's attentions.

Harm did not see or hear the pony-tailed assistant come in with the water and glasses of ice. However, the master did notice. He took his hand off Harm's hard, engorged member, leaving it standing at stiff attention. The young man appeared disgusted by the display.

"Fuck, don't you two ever stop?" he snorted, setting the glasses and bottles loudly on the round table. Harm's eyes flew open to see his master grinning down at him.

"Busted," said the older man. Harm just stared blankly at him.

"Will you be ready for dinner soon?" asked the dark haired man, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Well, let's see," said the master, smiling at Harm. "Are you hungry yet, my boy?"

Harm nodded eagerly.

"All right then." The master released his hold so Harm could sit up. "Go ahead and bring us the salad first." On that cue, he stood up while the young man headed down the hallway.

Harm looked down at his hard-on that was stubbornly refusing to fade. This was his second erection in a short space of time, but once again to be ignored. He sighed with frustration. If only he had an opportunity to touch himself. Glancing up, he caught his master's watchful eye, which immediately squashed his urge. Harm sat quietly, waiting for his next instruction.

The master was amused, but made sure not to show it. He didn't want Harm to catch on that he had deliberately gotten Harm worked up twice without relief. He wanted to have Harm needing, wanting, desperate for him. The evening was still young, and he felt confident that Harm would not disappoint him.

The master sat in one of the comfortable cushioned chairs. "Come join me," he said, gesturing to the other chair at the opposite side of the solid wood table. Harm left the sofa and quickly slid into the large chair. The upholstered arms and high back surrounded him and, since it was the one closest to the fireplace, he felt quite warm. The master poured the bottled water into both ice filled glasses, then sat back. He opened his dark green, linen napkin, laying it across his lap. Harm observed, then did the same with his napkin. It suddenly occurred to him that his master did not have his customary drink anywhere on the table, only water, and he found that curious.

The young assistant brought in two bowls of salad and set one each in front of the master and Harm.

"The rest will be ready shortly," he told his boss.

The man nodded. "First add another log to the fire." After the young man took care of that, he headed back to the kitchen.

"Go ahead, eat," the master told Harm. As he ate, he watched Harm attack the fresh greens, relieved that Harm had retained his appetite throughout his captivity. The master knew very well that he hadn't been feeding Harm enough. Under the circumstances, he had been concerned that Harm might have shut down to the point of having to be force-fed. If Harm were to become seriously ill, it would certainly complicate his plans. Fortunately, Harm's will to survive continued to prove strong.

Harm munched on his salad in silence. Along with several varieties of lettuce, he found sliced mushrooms, cucumbers, tomatoes, shredded carrots and bean sprouts, all covered with croutons and a mild vinaigrette type dressing.

"How is it?" asked his master.

Harm waited until he could swallow his mouthful. "Excellent," he finally answered.

"Good. I had everything brought in from a restaurant. I hope you'll enjoy your main course."

Harm finished every last bit and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. He wondered what else might be coming out of the kitchen, hoping against hope that it would be some more solid, real food.

The dark haired man reappeared shortly to take away the salad bowls, as well as the dinner plates underneath them. He had also brought out a basket of warm, crusty French rolls and butter. Looking at his boss he said, "Everything is ready. Shall I bring it out now?"

"Yes, that would be fine," said the master. His eyes twinkled with mirth as he watched Harm's expression. It was one of curiosity and anticipation.

The young man returned, carrying a large plate in each hand, holding on to them with folded towels. "Careful, the plates are hot," he said, presenting them with a flourish. He set the master's plate down first, which contained a large slab of rare prime rib and a baked potato. Harm almost blanched at the sight of the mostly pink meat and the red juices sliding around on the plate. The young man put the other plate in front of Harm, and Harm's eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, my ... " said Harm, his mouth watering. On his plate was a mound of Fettuccine Alfredo covered with numerous fat, juicy jumbo shrimp.

"It does look good, doesn't it?" the master remarked. "Enjoy it, my sweet boy." They both dug into their meals, wasting no time. Conversation was sparse as they relished the food in comfort, with only the sounds of soft jazz being heard in the background. Harm savored every bite, the shrimps were succulent, and the white, creamy pasta sauce had a mild flavor. Finally, his stomach protested and he groaned.

"Damn, I'm stuffed. I don't know if I can eat anymore." Harm looked guilty at not finishing his plate.

"Don't worry about it, baby," the master looked at Harm's nearly empty plate. "It's all right. I don't want you to get sick, you know."

"This *was* wonderful, though." Harm gave his master a grateful smile. He drank almost a full glass of water and the older man refilled it for him.

"I made sure they went easy on the garlic," the master said with a grin.

"That's probably a good thing," Harm quipped, suppressing a belch. They both chuckled. The master decided he was finished also and leaned back in his chair. He waited for Harm to finally relax in the comfort of the chair, observing how Harm looked around the room.

"What are you thinking?" the master asked.

"This is not what I expected," Harm replied.

"What do you mean? What did you expect?"

"I don't know, but all of this is so ... unreal, this room, the dinner ..." Harm trailed off, perplexed. His master just smiled. After a thoughtful pause, Harm continued. "You are an enigma."

At that, the man laughed heartily. "And you, my dear boy, continue to surprise and delight me with your honesty. It's one of the things I really like about you."

Harm looked confused. "I don't understand. I thought you hated me."

"I admit, I did at first, but I've gotten to know you. Things change, feelings change. I see in you a strong survival instinct, yet the intelligence to accept what you have no control over. You are not what I expected either. I can't seem to get enough of you, and I've never felt that way about anyone ever, man or woman. I can't explain it any more than that right now."

Harm was stunned by his master's words. He had so many questions, but they were interrupted by the pony-tailed man's voice at the doorway.

"Need anything?" he asked his boss.

"You may take away these plates. Oh, and bring us more of that excellent spiced cider."

"Coming right up," answered the young man. He cleared the table and left.

"Look, I know you have questions," the master said gently, addressing Harm. "I enjoy having meaningful conversation with you, so I'll tell you what. For the next twenty four hours, you get to ask me whatever you want to, talk about anything that comes to your mind, without any fear of punishment. I promise I won't get mad, no matter what you say to me. I may not have all the answers you seek, but I would like the opportunity to show you that I value your honesty. Maybe, eventually, we can truly trust each other."

"Um ... okay," Harm shrugged. He was not sure if he could believe what his master was saying, but he wanted to be able to feel some level of trust. Even more, he simply wanted to not be afraid.

The pony-tailed man appeared with two mugs of the steaming, potent beverage, which he placed on the table.

"Thank you," said the older man. "That'll be all for now."

"You know where I am if you need me later," said the young assistant, as he departed.

The master gazed at Harm as he picked up his mug. "Let's just relax and have our drinks. We'll see where the evening takes us. No rush." They sat quietly for a while, waiting for the hot cider to cool down just a bit, listening to the mellow jazz on the audio system. The master had another smoke, as they drank.

Harm pondered the statements his master made, trying to make sense of things. He did have questions, and the alcohol that he sipped slowly would perhaps give him the courage to ask them.

"Master?"

"Yes, my boy."

"Thank you ... for all this. It's very kind of you and I'm grateful."

"I wanted this day to be special for you, baby. I want to show you that I care about you and I like having your company, in more ways than one." He took a swallow from his drink, then gave Harm a kind smile.

Harm tried to absorb what his master said, but found it all rather overwhelming. He decided his questions could wait until later.

"How are you feeling, my boy?" the master asked.

"Pretty good, I guess. Warm."

"Why don't you go and use the head? You remember where it is, don't you?"

"Yes, master," replied Harm. He found it quite interesting that the man used the Navy term for bathroom, and that he trusted him to go by himself. As much as Harm was tempted to peek down the hall and see where else it led to, he had a feeling his master was watching him, so he went directly into the small powder room.

Harm came back to find his master had moved out of the chair and was sitting in front of the fire on the thick furry rug. Harm stopped at the table and swallowed a couple of gulps of his cider, followed by some more water. As soon as his master looked up at him, he went over and got down on the rug next to him without being told. Harm was fully aware it was time to stop thinking and just go with the flow. He stretched out on his side and laid his head on his master's thigh. As they watched the flames flickering in the fireplace, the master rubbed Harm's back.

"What would you like me to do, master?"

The older man let out a long sigh. "Oh, I don't know. Anything, everything." He deeply inhaled Harm's male scent. "I want to drown in you ... I can never get enough of you." He ran his hands all over Harm's torso, as he looked down at him. "You're beautiful, so fucking perfect."

The master's intensity scared Harm. "Please, master, just tell me what to do," he pleaded, not knowing how to cope with this.

The man slid out from under Harm's head and stretched out alongside him. He cupped Harm's face with both hands and planted kisses all over his face, from his forehead all the way down to his neck. There he suckled hard, pulling on Harm's tender skin, leaving his mark. He moved to new spots, sucking all the while, until there was a trail of hickeys. The master pulled Harm to him in a fierce bear hug. Harm had learned on more than one occasion that the man was stronger than he looked.

Harm let his head fall back as his master's mouth latched onto a nipple. He moaned from the mixture of pleasure and pain, as the lines between the two were blurred. The master raked his teeth and tongue across Harm's chest, as he aimed for the other nub. By the time he was done, Harm's chest sported a matched pair of purple bruises surrounding his aching nipples. He slid back up until they were face to face again, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

Rubbing his cheek against Harm's, he spoke softly into Harm's ear. "You are *not* just a hole to put my dick in, do you hear me? You're much more than just my fuck toy ... you are very special to me."

Harm pulled his head back to stare into his master's eyes, not knowing whether or not he could believe anything the man had to say. "Please don't," he said in a shaky voice.

"Don't what?" The master gave him a questioning look.

"Don't fuck with my head anymore. I can't take it."

"Oh-god, baby, I'm telling you the truth. I don't want to fuck with your mind anymore. Please, let me prove it. Things will be different. Let me show you how good it can be," the master implored.

"I don't know if I can believe you," Harm said.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Please don't be upset. I'm going to show you right now how much I trust you." He gave Harm a reassuring hug, then suddenly rolled onto his back, pulling Harm on top of him with a grunt.

"How?" asked Harm, suspicious, yet curious.

"That's easy," the master grinned. "I'm letting you be on top. I will only guide you. I'll give you choices to pick from and that way I relinquish control to you. You get to make decisions that affect the outcome. Are you game?"

"I'm not sure." Harm was driven by fear and the need to please that had been systematically ingrained in him over the past several weeks of his captivity.

"Relax, nothing to worry about. I'm trusting you more than you need to trust me."

"Okay, I guess. Uh ... what happens first?"

"Maybe you could get off me for a second so I can breathe. You're getting kind of heavy." They both snorted in amusement and that broke the tension. "There's only one rule. No one leaves the room until we both come at the end of this. Now, I'm just gonna lie here, and you do with me what you will. The first choice you get to make is this. Do you want my clothes on or off?"

"Um … I don't know. Off?" Harm found it very weird to be the one making any type of decision.

"Everything?"

Harm shrugged. "Yeah, okay, everything." He realized this would be the first time he'd see his master totally naked, and felt as though that might put them on a more level playing field.

"Do you remove them or do I?"

"Um ... take off your boots." The master had to sit up to pull them off, then he lay back down. Harm knelt gingerly between his legs and undid the belt and pants. He yanked both the pants and boxers down his legs and completely off, tossing them on the recliner. "Maybe you could do the rest," said Harm, uncertainly. The man unbuttoned his fleece shirt, sat up to take it off, pulled his tee shirt over his head and lay down again. He waited to see what Harm might want to do next.

Harm was morbidly intrigued by his master's cock. Even though knowing it as well as he did, it still intimidated him. Whether flaccid or erect, the man was simply hung like a horse. Though Harm knew he was no slouch, the fact that his master was larger was still a bit daunting. Without thinking, Harm crawled up on his hands and knees until his own cock was poised right above his master's. He hovered there, staring down at the man's cock, realizing he had no idea what he would do next.

The master looked at Harm kneeling over him, fully aware that he would need firm guidance for their role reversal. "You know, you look damn good on top," he smirked. "May I touch yours?"

"Okay," Harm nodded. There was something strangely exciting about his master having to ask permission to do anything, and Harm liked the momentary sense of freedom. He decided he would try to get into the spirit of this game and maybe he'd even enjoy it.

The master snaked his hand down between them and stroked Harm's shaft as it hung down just above his own manhood. Harm watched with fascination as his master's cock twitched and grew bigger without being touched, until it was standing rigidly at attention. Harm felt his own cock growing hard as well, his master tugging on it.

"Fuck, I'm so hot for you. It might feel good if we could rub our dicks together," the master suggested. "Would that be all right?"

Harm wordlessly nodded his consent. The master brought his other hand down as Harm leaned closer, so the underside of their shafts lined up. The master grasped both cocks and pumped them as one. It was a different sensation, but awkward, and Harm quickly lost interest. "Let go of me," he pleaded, and was surprised that his master released him immediately.

"What can I do for you next?" the master asked, holding his own member in his hand.

"I don't know. I just want to come."

"Do you want to fuck me?"

"God no." Harm shook his head. He knew he didn't want that. He looked at his master's hand wrapped around his own cock. "What are you doing, jerking off in front of me?"

"Sure, if you want me to."

"Okay, let's see." Harm issued the challenge out of curiosity. The man pumped himself hard and fast, his eyes never leaving Harm's.

"If you don't stop me soon, I won't be able to give you what you need."

"Then stop." Harm said, frustrated. Nothing seemed to embarrass the kinky older man.

"I'd like to taste your sweet, perfect cock. "Would you like to fuck my mouth?"

The corner of Harm's mouth twitched upwards. Now that might be interesting. "Okay." He thought about what would be the best way to do this.

The master helped him out again. "Hey, I'm the one just lying here. You're the one on top. You decide how you want it."

Harm was already kneeling over his master, so he simply crawled forward until he hung in his master's face. The man was determined to drive Harm crazy. First he nuzzled, nibbled and sucked gently on each hairless nut. Then he tongued Harm's entire length, licking the pre-cum off the tip. Finally, he took the throbbing member into his wet mouth, milking it. Harm could not keep from thrusting.

"Oh-my-god, this feels so fucking incredible!" Harm wouldn't have lasted long, but the master abruptly pulled him out of his mouth and squeezed the base of his shaft hard, bringing him down a few notches, regaining control. "Shit! What the fuck? Are you ever gonna let me come?"

"Soon, baby, but not just yet. I have an even better idea. You won't believe how good you'll come." The master took over now and pushed on Harm's hips, easing him backwards. "Slide down me until your knees are lined up with my hips, like you were before." Harm crawled down his master's body until he was straddling him face to face once more. The master kept his hands lightly on Harm's hips. "Now just lean back and sit on my lap."

Harm stared at his master, his face full of doubt. He straightened up though and sat back, keeping his weight mostly on his knees, but resting his buttocks on his master's thighs. Harm looked down at his own cock, which was hard and pointing upward. Right in front of it, his master's rigid cock stood straight up and twitching, which Harm could feel against his own shaft. Harm was throbbing with need and he impulsively stroked himself.

"No, no, no," the master admonished him, slapping his hand away. "You can do much better than that." Harm gave him an indignant glare. "Could you trust me just a little? I promise this will be fun," the man continued. "You are on top, dear boy. So ride my cock until you come. I will lie still and resist the urge to thrust in you. You get to choose how you want to do it, slow and easy or hard and fast. You control the pace and how much you want, and I'll do my best to hold out until you get off. Okay?"

Harm nodded mutely in agreement, his expression glazed over. He was aching too much with need to care about anything else. His master reached over to the pile of discarded clothing and produced a tube of lubricant. He handed it to Harm.

"You'll need to prepare us, boy."

Harm stared blankly at the tube in his hand for a moment. Then he proceeded to apply the stuff to his master's stiff cock, which made the man groan with frustration.

"Enough already, better let go of me," the man smirked. "Now hurry up, you're killing me here."

Harm lifted himself up a little bit, his fingers coated with lube, and froze. "I don't think I can do this," he whimpered, staring into his master's eyes before dropping his gaze in embarrassment.

"It's all right, baby. If you want me to help you, just ask." The master's tone was compassionate and understanding.

"Could you please do this, master?" Harm held the tube out to him, as he resumed a kneeling position.

"Sure. Anything for my sweet boy." The master took the lube, quickly covering his fingers. He then slid his hand between Harm's legs, reaching up behind his balls, and found his target. With one finger at a time he probed and stretched Harm's passage, feeling Harm relax. He slid his fingers in and out several times until he felt Harm open up to his ministrations. He stroked Harm's prostate, making him shudder and moan.

"I think you're ready." The master placed his hand on Harm's chest and pushed him back so that Harm straightened up again. Without another word of instruction, Harm poised himself over his master's hardness. Holding onto the rigid shaft to keep the aim steady, and using his thigh muscles, Harm very slowly lowered his ass until he was impaled.

Both men groaned.

"Damn, you feel so fucking good, so tight." The master ground the words out. It was all he could do to lie still and keep from thrusting.

Harm didn't say a word, eyes closed, deep in concentration. He felt so full and stretched, yet he began to move, just slightly rocking up and down, searching for that magic spot that would bring exquisite pleasure. He wanted to lose himself in pure sensation, to forget everything else for a little while. He ached for release and brought his hand down to grasp his throbbing manhood.

The master swatted Harm's hand away. Then he grabbed both of Harm's hands with his own, interlocking their fingers, so that Harm couldn't touch himself. Harm tried to pull his hands free, but couldn't. His master held onto him with a death grip.

"Fuck you!" Harm blurted out in frustration.

The master just smiled at him. "No, I think it's the other way around."

"Please, master, why won't you let me come?"

"You can, dear boy. Just use my cock to get yourself off. Come now, try a little harder."

"Fine." Harm had been driven to the point of desperation. He began to push himself up and back down, harder and faster, on his master's erection, the man firmly holding his hands for balance. Leaning back, he found the angle he needed to make flashes of ecstasy spark through him, as his master's cock repeatedly bumped his prostate.

"Oh, … ohhh!" Harm threw his head back, eyes closed, lost in a red haze of pleasure and pain. His thigh muscles screamed at him, as he bounced up and down. His aching cock bounced with him as he moved, slapping against his master's belly every time he came down. Harm realized it gave the underside of his throbbing member much needed contact, but he needed more, and even found himself wanting it. He bounced harder, painfully riding his master's rigid manhood. He thought he might actually be able to come just from the thrusts against his magic spot. Even the pain was good, as it intertwined with the unbelievable pleasure, both combining to chase away all other feelings from Harm's mind, the fear, the hatred, the loneliness, the despair, and even the shame of his desperate desire for orgasm. Harm was sweating, panting, and moaning, frantic with primal need.

The master watched Harm closely, entranced by the spectacle. He had no need to buck up into Harm's tight passage. He had lost control of the situation and all he could do was hang on for the ride. He couldn't last much longer, but Harm showed no signs of letting up. He relinquished all control to Harm, even though Harm was himself quite out of control.

"Fuck! You're killing me, boy!" the master gasped, unable to hold off his climax any longer. "Shit! I can't wait … I'm gonna …" He roared his release, as he exploded into Harm.

Harm was oblivious to his master's orgasm, still frantically riding him past the point where the man's cock had finished pulsing. He was so close to his own climax.

"Stop, please! You're gonna fucking kill me," the master pleaded, his cock becoming painfully sensitive.

"Fuck me!" Harm begged desperately, opening his eyes to stare down at his master. "Please make me come … now!"

The master released his grip on Harm's hands, immediately grasping Harm's weeping member. "Come for me," he growled, as he pumped it vigorously.

Harm abruptly stopped bouncing, sitting all the way down on his master's lap, still impaled. He threw his head back, finally letting go, and within seconds came almost violently, screaming his powerful release.

"Oh, yes, baby. You come so hard … so good for me," the master crooned, as he continued milking Harm's semen from him.

Harm's mouth was open, gasping for air, his unseeing eyes glazed over, as the red haze was slowly replaced with the black edges of unawareness. "Oh, master," he sighed. Without warning, he pitched forward and collapsed onto his master's chest, his sticky essence plastered between their bodies.

The master managed to pull his hand out from between them, and wrapped his arms around Harm, rubbing his back. "Shhh." They were still joined, though his softened manhood threatened to slip out of the semi-conscious man on top of him if they moved even slightly. Both covered with sweat, they lay quietly for several minutes to recover, neither one speaking or moving.

The master realized Harm was completely out of it, breathing deeply. Harm's weight was becoming too heavy for him and he thought about rolling them both over to their sides. He then decided to wake Harm in a gentler manner, running his hands up and down his back, and then patting his cheek.

"Wake up, my boy," he said softly, stroking Harm's face. Harm stirred slightly. "Come on, baby, ya gotta wake up for me now." He patted Harm on the shoulder.

"Huh?" Harm lifted his head from his master's chest, suddenly remembering where he was. He felt wetness near the corner of his mouth and looked down to see a string of his saliva pooling on his master's chest. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry I drooled on you … I'm so sorry." Harm sounded so guilty, as he tried to wipe it away with his hand.

"Hey, it's okay," the master stopped him. He held Harm's face in his hands so that they stared at each other. "Considering where my dick has been, do you honestly think I'm worried about a little drool?" He flashed Harm a big grin.

Although he couldn't imagine why, the question struck Harm as hysterically funny. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess it is kind of absurd," he snorted, trying hard not to laugh. The older man burst out laughing first, thoroughly amused by Harm's response. The merriment was contagious, both men ending up shaking with laughter.

"Fuck, that was funny," the master said, wiping his eyes. All of a sudden, he grunted. "You really have to get off me. I can't breathe."

Harm's knees still straddled his master's hips, his legs folded beneath him. He tried to move. "Ouch, I think I'm stuck," Harm admitted sheepishly.

"Hmmm, okay, hold on. I'm gonna roll us onto our sides." He wrapped his arms around Harm and in turn, Harm held on to his shoulders. "Ready?"

Harm nodded his reply. They both groaned as they rolled, remaining face to face as they lay close together. Harm managed to straighten out his stiff, aching legs, which the master immediately intertwined with his own. Their spent cocks grazed against each other, but Harm's attention was drawn to his throbbing ass, as he felt his master's essence ooze out of him.

"How do you feel?" the master asked.

"Um … exhausted … and extremely sore, I'm afraid," Harm replied sincerely. He rested his head on his outstretched arm.

The master leaned up on one elbow, and with his other hand he caressed Harm's face. "I can imagine. You were incredible. You're my amazing, precious boy." His passionate gaze bore through Harm.

Harm blushed, sensing that his master needed him to say something in agreement. This he could do, to some extent. "It was … intense." He managed a tiny hint of a smile.

The master leaned in, looking as though he was about to say something. Instead he pulled Harm to him and held him in silence. Their sticky, sweaty bodies were cooling down, as they lay near the fireplace. The fire was dying down as well, and he felt Harm shiver.

"Will you be all right here for a few minutes by yourself?" The master spoke softly into Harm's ear.

"Um … yeah, I guess so," Harm answered carefully. Confusion at his master's question was etched on his face as he pulled back to look at him. But then so much about this man confused him. Harm's hatred and fear, at times, would subside, especially when the man treated him well. He had even gotten used to being around him, had come to depend on being taken care of and cared for. He wondered if his master really did care for him. The master did certainly seem to be particularly kind and good to him today. Harm had already accepted that this was the way things were; this was his life and being fussed over and coddled, though bizarre, was better than being beaten and tortured. However, he still had doubts that he could ever truly trust the man.

The master got up slowly. "Wait here while I go get cleaned up and then you'll get your turn, okay?"

"Okay." Harm stayed where he was, lying on his side and watching the glowing embers in the fireplace.

The master gathered up his clothing. "Oh, by the way, just in case you get any ideas in that pretty head of yours, you should know that my assistant will be posting the watch tonight. Don't even think about wandering around."

"No, master. That never crossed my mind." Harm looked up at him, feeling the tension return just when he had started to relax. The master did not need to remind him. He knew what the consequences would be, even if he did somehow manage to escape from this place. Revenge would be exacted on people he cared about, and that wasn't worth taking foolish risks. Not surprisingly, one or both of his young assistants had always been lurking around, standing guard. However, Harm found it interesting that his master used the phrase 'posting the watch.' He had wondered about the man's possible military background on more than one occasion.

Harm watched his master leave the room, knowing with certainty that he would stay put until he returned. He smelled of sweat and male sex, sticky with both the master's and his own drying semen. Feeling dirty and disgusting, he looked forward to the chance to wash up. He sprawled across the thick fur rug, laying his head on his arms, watching the burnt, glowing logs in front of him, and waited patiently.

***

Upon the conclusion of the Christmas Eve service, various members of JAG gathered outside on the steps to say their goodbyes.

"It was a beautiful service," said Jennifer Coates. Everyone nodded in agreement.

"That was very thoughtful of the Chaplain to include the special prayer for Commander Rabb," Harriet commented tearfully, hanging on to Bud's arm.

"Yes, indeed," said Commander Turner. "I know we will all continue to pray for Harm's safe return."

"Amen to that," added Admiral Chegwidden.

Mac turned away from the little group. She spoke softly, her voice full of barely concealed emotion. "He's not dead, you know." The resulting silence was awkward, as people tried to think of something to say to that statement.

"It's all right, Sarah," Clayton Webb said, coming up beside her. "No one is saying that he is."

"No. I mean it. I would know if he was." Mac was adamant. "I would just know!"

"Colonel, have you … seen anything?" The Admiral asked what everyone was surely thinking, wondering if Mac had had one of her visions.

Mac refused to look at anyone. She gazed out into the night sky. "Just in my nightmares, very brief flashes really."

"Sarah, please tell us. What did you see?" Webb implored. He looked at Mac's face, seeing that she was trying valiantly to hold herself together. There was a long pause before she finally spoke again.

"It wasn't so much what I saw … couldn't see much … it was all so gray and shadowy and dark. But I could hear his screams; feel his pain and anguish. It was just as clear and horrible as when Sadik tortured you. He's helpless and suffering terribly, but he is alive. I'm sure of it." It was a difficult thing for the group to hear, and the silence was uncomfortable.

"Anything else?" Webb put his hand on Mac's shoulder. She finally looked at him, clearly on the verge of shattering into a million pieces, and shook her head.

"I can't talk about this anymore," she said, her voice shaking. "Actually, Clay, there's something I really want to do tonight."

"Anything," Webb promised.

"I'd like to go to The Wall. Harm has always gone at Christmas. Since he can't be there to honor his father, I want to go for him."

"I'll take you, Sarah. I don't want you to do this alone," offered Webb.

"We'd like to go too, if that's all right," Chegwidden said, nodding to his fiancée, Meredith, who was holding on to his elbow.

"I'd be honored if I may be allowed to accompany you as well," said Commander Turner.

"We'd like to go, but the children are getting restless," Lieutenant Roberts said.

"You go on, Bud, I'll take the kids home," said Harriet.

"I could take care of them, so you both can go," Petty Officer Coates offered.

"Oh, are you sure? That is so sweet of you," Harriet said gratefully.

"Yes, thank you, Petty Officer," Bud added.

"No problem, sir, ma'am."

"Thank you. Thank you all." The tears rolled freely down Mac's face, as they all prepared to depart for the Viet Nam Memorial. In Commander Rabb's absence, his friends and colleagues would pay tribute to his father for him.

***

The master stood in the doorway to his living room holding two warm mugs of spiced cider, watching the still form lying peacefully in front of the hearth. Harm's back was to him, unaware of his presence. The master walked around to stand in front of him, and saw his eyes were closed. Harm had dozed off, and the man shook his head, smiling slightly. It was almost a shame to wake him, looking so relaxed and innocent. He sat down in the recliner, which was near Harm's head.

"Hey, you alive?" The sound of his master's voice startled Harm to instant alertness. He lifted his head to see the man sitting nearby, and quickly sat up.

"Sorry … master," Harm said, as he stifled a yawn.

"Nothing to be sorry about, my boy. I always get sleepy after a good meal and good sex," he chuckled. He leaned forward and held out a mug. "I brought you a hot drink. Looks like we lost our roaring fire."

"Thank you, master," Harm said, taking the mug of the tasty, strong cider. He felt a bit cool and this would warm him up again. He glanced up at his master as he sipped his drink.

The master was freshly showered, and he wore a long robe of thick, burgundy velour and had slippers on his feet. Leaning back in his chair, he savored his drink slowly, and smoked one more cigarette, his steely gray eyes never leaving Harm.

Harm studied the smoldering embers in front of him, and his mind wandered. Remembering everything that had transpired over the course of the day and this evening, he was still amazed, yet perplexed by the amount of kindness shown to him. The master continued to be tender and affectionate, and the food and drink was abundantly generous. Harm decided he must be doing something right, and began to relax in spite of himself. He couldn't help but wonder what might come next, but as long as his master was pleased, he knew he could handle it.

Harm finished the last of his beverage, noticing his master was done also. The man reached out to him and Harm handed him the empty mug. He felt a warm flush from the alcohol and watched the man place both mugs on the small table.

"Come with me," the master said, as he stood and held his hand out to Harm. Harm reached up to clasp his master's hand and was pulled to his feet. The man led him to the doorway, where they stopped.

"We're going upstairs for the night," the master announced loudly. The pony-tailed assistant seemed to magically appear from the hallway, holding the leash and collar, and a dark pillowcase.

"You'll be relieved in the morning, correct?" the older man asked.

"Yes, Chief," replied the dark haired man.

"Good. Make sure everything is locked up and secured. Thanks for all the preparations and hard work. You did a fine job today."

"Thanks." The young man held out the items in his hands, as Harm stood by, silently observing the entire exchange.

"We won't be needing the leash," the master said, maintaining his firm grip on Harm's hand. "Just cover his eyes." Looking at Harm, he added, "You'll be good, won't you?"

"Yes, master." Harm tried not to react as the young man pulled the pillowcase down over his head, covering his face. His master jerked on his hand, pulling him forward. Harm followed behind the man, unable to see anything. At least this time he was allowed to walk instead of having to crawl. He felt a hand pressing lightly against his back, which made him wonder if the pony-tailed man was following them to help guide him or to make sure he didn't try anything.

"Okay, going up some stairs now," the master instructed, pulling on Harm's hand again. They progressed slowly, hesitantly, until Harm got the feel of the height and space of the steps. At the top of the staircase, they turned again, and proceeded down the hall to an open door.

Once inside the room, he dismissed his assistant. "Thanks, I'll take it from here. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

Harm heard the young man's footsteps retreating on the wooden floor, and the sound of a door closing behind him. He felt the presence of his master close to him and shivered slightly. This room was quite a bit cooler than the room they had come from. He waited patiently for his makeshift blindfold to be removed.

The master noticed the goose bumps on Harm's skin, finally letting go of his hand. He could not resist the urge to touch him, though, his hands rubbing firmly up and down the arms of the taller man for a few moments. He still marveled at how acquiescent Harm had become, quietly submitting to his every whim, resigned to his fate with a placid acceptance. Not wanting to make Harm wait any longer, he pulled the pillowcase off, and smiled as Harm blinked at him.

"I'll bet you'd like to get cleaned up," the master said. Harm merely nodded. "Give me just a moment, and then the bathroom is all yours." The man turned and disappeared through one of the doors, leaving Harm to look around what was obviously the master's bedroom. Harm took it all in. It was not a large room, but neat and functional. Bulky furniture filled the space, all in handsome, dark cherry woods. A very large four-poster bed, covered with a thick, down-filled comforter in a deep burgundy wine color, took up a majority of the room. Four king size pillows, also covered in burgundy cases, were propped in two rows of two against the massive headboard. On the far wall from where Harm stood was a chest of drawers, next to a window with heavy drapes drawn closed. The wall to Harm's left, across from the foot of the bed, contained a tall armoire and the door to the bathroom. Harm heard his master finish taking a leak and the toilet flush. The room's only illumination came from a small lamp and two candles on the nightstand by the left side of the bed. More light spilled into the room from the bathroom when the master opened the door.

The man couldn't help but grin when he saw that Harm was rooted in the exact spot where he had left him, standing with his back to the closed door that would have led him right out into the hallway and stairs. Of course, Harm would not have gotten past his assistant, but he was relieved that Harm did not make the attempt.

"What do you think? Cozy, isn't it?"

"Actually, this is quite beautiful," Harm remarked. He felt he should at least acknowledge the man's good taste.

"That's nice of you to say. I want you be comfortable in here. Now go grab a nice, hot shower. You'll find everything you need laid out for you and you can throw your socks in the hamper. There should be about ten minutes of hot water left, so don’t dally too long, okay?"

"Okay." Harm wasted no time entering the bathroom and closing the door. Checking the knob, he realized there was no lock. The room was small, strictly utilitarian, with old fixtures, but it was well maintained and clean. There was no tub or window. Harm took stock of the items laid neatly on the vanity counter; mouthwash, a brand new toothbrush, toothpaste, and folded hand towels and washcloths. Two large bath towels hung from the bar on the wall. The towels and bath rugs were charcoal gray in color. Harm peered through the clear glass door to the shower stall and found a shelf containing a fresh new bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo.

First, Harm brushed his teeth, gargled, and answered nature's call. He couldn't help but notice his drawn, haggard features from his prolonged stress when he saw himself in the mirror. Then, he found the hamper, deposited the socks, and turned on the water to the shower, getting it good and hot before he stepped in. The steam began to fill the small room as he stood under the hard spray. It felt so good to be able to take a real shower … alone. Working up a good lather, Harm thoroughly scrubbed himself from head to toe, removing all traces of sweat and dried cum. He also examined his skin. The repeated injuries to his wrists and ankles were mostly healed, but the scarring was quite noticeable there. Harm also tried to ignore the fact that the base of his penis was tinged with discoloration and scar tissue. He very carefully cleaned his sore ass, hoping it wouldn't hurt too much tomorrow. After he was done rinsing off, he remained under the showerhead, just letting the water beat against his shoulders, the heat soothing the tension out of his muscles. With his eyes closed, he needed to put a hand against the wall to maintain his balance, letting his mind drift off to a better time and place. As soon as the water started turning cooler, he shut it off. Harm grabbed a towel to dry off and got one last drink of water at the sink. He couldn't resist the urge to peek inside the medicine cabinet and under the sink, but did not find what he was looking for. With a sigh, Harm hung up the towel and opened the door. After the steamy warmth of the shower, the cool air of the bedroom caught Harm by surprise and he shivered.

The master lay in the massive bed, propped up against the pillows, the covers coming up to his bare chest. He was on the side nearest to the door and his robe hung over one of the thick, heavy posts at the foot of the bed frame.

"Turn off the light, dear boy," said the master, as he pulled back the covers on the right side of the bed. Harm found the switch, and then the only light left was the glow from the two candles on the nightstand. Harm came around the bed, past the chest of drawers and window, and crawled in. Not sure what to do, he leaned back against the pillows, allowing his master to pull the thick covers up around him.

"I keep the place cool at night. That's what blankets are for," the master said, as if to explain. "Comfy?"

"Yes, thank you, master," Harm replied. He couldn't remember when he had felt sheets or pillows this soft.

The master turned onto his side, leaning closer to Harm's body. "You look refreshed. Did you enjoy the shower?"

"I did. I feel a lot better now, thanks." Harm glanced at the man briefly.

"Mmm, you smell good, too." The master's hand moved under the covers and found Harm's stomach, resting his hand there gently. "And your skin is so warm."

Harm lay perfectly still, making a conscious effort not to tense up at his master's touch. He was afraid to think about what might be expected of him next.

"Relax now, sweet boy," the master said softly, his fingers lazily petting up and down Harm's torso. "I'm tired and I'm not up for another round. I just want to keep you warm, maybe have a little conversation, and fall asleep with you wrapped in my arms."

Harm sighed with relief and began to relax, as his master's arm snaked around his waist, then stopped moving. Lying on his back, he watched the dancing shadows from the flickering candle flame on the ceiling. No light came in from outside, and Harm wondered what it looked like on the other side of the drapes. Maybe once he was sure his master was asleep, he'd take a peek.

"So, aren't you mostly a side sleeper?" the master asked. Harm shifted his weight, snuggling down further under the covers. He turned his head to the left to find the man gazing intently at him.

"Yeah, I guess," Harm smirked. He turned more to his side so that they were facing each other, his master's hand resting lightly under his right arm.

"You warm enough?"

"Uh-huh. This sure is a comfortable bed."

"Oh, I don't know. Most nights it's too empty and lonely." The master sighed. "I'm glad you're here with me."

Harm shifted around again and winced. "Master?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for … everything today. I felt … almost … human."

"You've already thanked me, baby. What about now, how do you feel?"

"Not bad." Harm managed a little grin, and paused. "Master?"

"What is it?"

"Um … do you happen to have some of that medicated ointment handy?"

The older man raised his head up off the pillow, his eyes narrowing. "You're hurt." It wasn't a question and he sounded concerned.

"No, I'm okay … just a little sore," Harm said feebly.

"Tell me the truth, boy," the master demanded, as he slid his hand up to Harm's chest and tapped him once.

"Okay, I'm … it's … pretty sore," Harm admitted.

"I think it's downstairs. I'll go get it." His master was already sliding out of bed and reaching for his robe.

"No, really, it can wait until morning." Harm saw that the man was stark naked before he put on the robe.

"Nonsense. I'll be back before you know it." He didn't mention that the item in question was all the way down in the basement. Flashing Harm a smile as he opened the door, he said, "You just keep my spot warm for me."

"Aye-aye, sir." Harm heard his master chuckling as he disappeared down the hall.

Upon the master's return, he found Harm still lying where he had left him, on his side facing the center of the bed, the thick bedding pulled up around his chin.

"Found it," he announced and Harm started to get up. "No, stay right there."

"I can take care of myself in the bathroom, master," Harm said anxiously.

"Don't argue with me." The master had already put on a latex glove and he flipped a switch, flooding the room with a bright light from an ugly fixture in the center of the ceiling. "You can't possibly see what you're doing and you won't do it right. Now, let me check the damage." He scolded Harm like a small child, so when he pulled the covers completely off, Harm glared at him, pouting.

"Yes, daddy," Harm huffed, sticking his lower lip out further.

"Hey, you behave or I'll take you over my knee." The man tried unsuccessfully to hide his smirk, realizing immediately this banter was Harm's way of dealing with the anxiety over the intimate exam. If it helped to diffuse Harm's embarrassment, he'd play along.

"Uh-oh, I wouldn't want that," Harm responded to his warning. The master laughed and came up along the right side of the bed, holding the ointment and a hand towel.

"This won't take but a minute." The master was serious again. "Get on your left side and bring your knees up for me."

Harm turned his back to the man and curled up into a fetal position. He felt his master tuck the towel under his hip, and then sit behind him. Harm squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the hands on his ass.

The master needed to get a better look, so he carefully spread Harm's cheeks. Other than a small gasp, Harm made no sound. Quickly, he began applying the soothing medicine to the sensitive tissue, talking to Harm as he did so.

"There's some inflammation and redness, but no bleeding. I guess we got too carried away. Try to stay on your side for awhile and not move around too much." He finished up, got off the bed, and went into the bathroom.

Harm let out the breath that he realized he had been holding. The cooling analgesic almost immediately took away the burning and throbbing. Although he felt chilled, he did not move, just as his master instructed.

The master returned to find Harm with his eyes closed, curled up with his forearms crossed over his chest, and shivering. Shaking his head, he switched off the overhead light, and then gathered up the bedding that had bunched up at the foot of the bed. He pulled the covers up and neatly tucked Harm in.

Harm's eyes opened then, and he watched his master in the dim candlelight, as he crossed back over to his own side, slipped his robe off and hung it back on the bedpost, and slid in between the sheets.

"Brrrr," said the master, as he stretched out on his back, pulling up at the covers until they reached his shoulders. "I need to warm up again."

Harm thought it was rather kind of the man to go through all that trouble for him, so he flung an arm across the older man's chest. "Thanks for taking care of me, master."

"You should have said something right away. From now on, tell me when you need help. How are you doing now?"

"Much better," Harm sighed. "So, are you gonna scoot over, or what?"

"What did you say?" The master turned to look at him.

"Well, you told me not to move. How else can I keep you warm?" Harm gazed at the man with wide-eyed innocence.

"Smart ass."

"What? I thought you wanted to hold me."

The master looked over at the small clock behind his bedside lamp, and then slid towards the middle of the bed, until they were just touching.

"Come here," he murmured, pulling Harm to him.

Harm stretched against his master's side, one arm draped over his chest, and laid his head on the man's shoulder. The master hugged him, his hand rubbing Harm's shoulder and back.

"Master?"

"Hmmm?"

"So, it's not a problem if I should happen to drool on you again?" Harm felt the rumble of his master's laughter against his ear and it made him feel almost content.

"You're lucky I'm so fond of you. Now be quiet and go to sleep."

"Yes, master. Good night," Harm mumbled, taking note of his master's comment. The man sounded like he meant it, and Harm settled down further in the warm, safe cocoon.

The master listened to Harm breathe quietly for a minute, and then he finally whispered, "Good night, my precious boy." It was after midnight, and therefore Christmas Day. He decided that this was the best Christmas he had in years. Soon, they both drifted off to dreamland, their body heat keeping each other warm.

***

It was well past midnight and Clayton Webb was at Mac's apartment. The radio was playing Christmas music, the lights were turned down low, and they were sitting on the sofa sipping plain eggnog. Webb wished he had brought something with him to spike his drink. After returning from the group visit to The Wall, Mac had been less than talkative. However, she felt fortunate to be part of such a supportive and caring group of people from work. Her colleagues and her Commanding Officer continued to surprise her, and even the man sitting next to her now had been an unexpected source of comfort and friendship.

"It's officially Christmas morning," Webb remarked. "Merry Christmas, Sarah."

"Merry Christmas to you, Clay." Mac gave him a half-hearted smile. "I'm sorry it's not a better one."

"I've had worse," Webb tried to joke.

"I did warn you I'd be lousy company."

"Well, I believe even being miserable together is better than being alone." Webb put his arm around Mac's shoulder.

"It's getting late, Clay."

"I really don't want to leave. I do not want to go to my empty place and I don't want you to be alone either. I could just crash on your couch."

"I don't know …" Mac was hesitant.

"Sarah, please let me stay here." Webb hated that his voice sounded so pleading, but it worked. Mac gave in.

"I don't see how you'll get a decent night's rest on this sofa."

"Where I am seems to have little to do with the quality of my sleep these days," he sighed.

"You're still having nightmares too, aren't you?" Mac asked sadly.

"On and off," Web shrugged, trying to sound flippant. "I knew you had nightmares about Paraguay, but …"

"Still," Mac corrected him. "I still have nightmares about what Sadik did to you."

"I know, I know." Webb pulled her against him in a much-needed embrace, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "But I didn't know, until tonight, that you've had nightmares about Rabb, too. Why didn't you tell me before, Sarah?"

"I just couldn't, Clay. You had been through enough, and I couldn't add to the burden.

"Don't worry about me. There is more to it, isn't there? What didn't you say earlier in front of the others?"

"What do you mean?" Mac lifted her head and picked up her glass of eggnog from the coffee table.

Webb sighed. The last thing he wanted to do with Mac tonight was to discuss Commander Rabb, but he needed to know. "Tell me everything you can remember about the nightmares. It might help give us some kind of clue, you never know."

"All right." Mac turned toward him and folded her legs up underneath herself. "Like I said, I only had brief flashes, but they were very frightening. The first week Harm was missing was the worst. I had these terrible dreams every night and the images were so strong … and disturbing. As the weeks passed, they faded and then sort of blurred together with the nightmares about Paraguay. It's always the screams that wake me up, and sometimes I can't tell anymore whether they're yours or his."

"Jesus, Sarah, it's a wonder you get any sleep at all." Webb was at a loss as to what to do for Mac. He had been under a lot of stress for some time, and surviving Sadik's torture had taken months of recovery. He hadn't realized until now, just how much she had been suffering too. He looked at her now, pale and exhausted. "I'm sorry, I wish I knew what to do to help you."

"You're a good friend, Clay." The expression on Mac's face broke Webb's heart. He wanted more than friendship but, as long as the whole Rabb situation remained in limbo, he vowed that he would not take advantage of her vulnerability. Webb would wait until Mac was ready to move on, however long it took. He leaned back into the corner of the sofa and rubbed his temple. Mac still hadn't told him any details of the images she saw in her dreams. He hesitated to press the subject further, but his agent training kicked in and made him persist in his quest for information.

"Is there anything else you can tell me? Any images you can remember?"

Mac closed her eyes as if in pain to think about it. "I could see Harm. He was hung from … something … I don't know what. Thick, black bands or cuffs around his wrists. Everything around him so gray … shadowy movements … other men maybe … I don't know how many … hurting him. Then I'd hear the pain and terror in his screams, and that's when I'd wake up. I haven't had any visions while awake, though. I think what scares me most is the fact that the screaming in my dreams is less and less frequent, like he's getting weaker, or maybe even giving up the will to live. That's it. That's all I know." Mac's eyes glittered as she glanced over at Clay.

"Come here." Webb held his arms out to Mac. He could almost see the moment that she gave up and surrendered to her fears, her sorrow. Unable to maintain the tight lid on her emotions any longer, she melted into his embrace. Stretching alongside him, she put her head on his chest and he held her tightly. They remained that way for some time, finding comfort together, the soft, seasonal music a soothing backdrop to quiet their thoughts. Webb found himself deep in thought regarding Mac's words, remembering the photo images of Rabb that were burned into his brain. Though Mac barely stirred, she remained awake also. Finally, Webb moved to look at his watch, wincing at the kink in his neck.

"It's zero-one-forty-nine hours," Mac said.

"You're scary, Marine," Webb snorted. "I wish to hell I knew how you did that."

"Hmmm, my secret." Mac pushed herself up off the sofa. "I am going to my bedroom. Good night, Clay."

"Good night, Sarah. Try to get some rest."

"Just knowing you're close by helps. Thanks for being here." With that, Mac turned and left the living room.

A few hours later, Clayton Webb woke up out of a restless sleep hearing strange noises. The sounds were coming from Mac's bedroom. He got up, instantly alert, and made his way to her door. Hearing her cry out, he opened the door.

"Sarah?" Webb whispered, not wanting to startle her. She was obviously in the grip of a nightmare, restless and muttering in her sleep.

"No … noooo … oh-god," Mac sobbed. Webb moved swiftly to her bed and touched her shoulder.

"Wake up. Sarah, you're dreaming. Wake up," Webb said, gently nudging her.

Suddenly, Mac bolted upright to find Webb sitting on the edge of the bed. She blinked at him, bewildered. His hair was disheveled and he was wearing dark silk boxers and a tee shirt.

"What? What are you … "

"You were having a nightmare. I came to check on you."

"Oh."

"It sounded bad."

Mac answered only with a deep sigh and lay back down. In the darkness, Webb could barely see around the room, but he noticed that the alarm clock display showed it was 5:22 in the morning. He wondered which nightmare she had been having, but he wasn't going to ask. Without a word, he pulled the covers up over her, and lay down alongside of her. He got no protest from her, so he wrapped his arm around her trembling body and held her against him.

"It's okay. I'm right here." Webb murmured, closing his eyes.

***

Elsewhere, in another dark bedroom, the master suddenly awoke, feeling movements next to him. The last candle had long since burnt out, and the dim glow from his alarm clock was the only source of light in the room. He glanced over at it. 5:22 A.M. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched the sleeping form beside him.

During the night, Harm had managed to roll away from his master and turn onto his right side. He was now shaking and his limbs jerked periodically. Anguished moans quickly became shouts, as he lay trapped in an intense nightmare.

"Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god! Please, no more … no more … please … let me die!" Harm yelled the words out loud, followed by a blood-curdling scream, as he thrashed about. The master sat up and leaned over him, shaking him hard.

"Wake up!" The master lightly slapped at Harm's chest several times. "Come on now, wake up."

Harm gasped, as he was abruptly yanked out of his terrifying dream state. He had heard his own scream and the master's voice, and felt the hand tapping him. With unseeing eyes, he fought his way to awareness, breathing heavily.

"Oh, man." Harm's voice quivered, rolling onto his back. His master's face hovering over him was slowly coming into focus as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"That must've been some fucking dream," said the master. He placed his hand on Harm's forehead. It was damp with perspiration. He touched Harm in several more places, discovering Harm felt clammy all over. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No." Harm was trying to shake it off. He just wanted to forget about it.

The master felt around on the bed and found the hand towel he had laid out under Harm earlier. It was dry, so he wadded it up in his hand and blotted Harm's forehead with it. Next, he pulled the covers down past Harm's waist, while Harm watched him. The master used the towel to rub and pat Harm's skin dry, working his way down Harm's chest, stomach, and arms.

Harm lay quietly, as his breathing settled down. He could barely discern his master's expression in the darkness. It was beyond his comprehension how the man could be so cold and cruel most of the time, but then, in rare moments like this, could be so tender. Harm felt thoroughly discombobulated. He had no idea how to react, so he did nothing.

The master tossed the towel aside towards the foot of the bed. "I'm gonna go piss. I'll bring you glass of water."

"Uh … I gotta piss, too … please," Harm said hesitantly.

"No problem." The master was already out of bed and going into the adjoining bathroom. When he came out, he crawled back into the bed, realizing he left no light for Harm to see by. "Can you find your way?"

"I think so."

"Go on then." The master gave his permission for Harm to leave the bed. "Be careful."

Harm slowly and gingerly made his way around the bed, his hands out in front of him to make sure he wouldn't run into anything. He navigated successfully, and after he relieved himself, he splashed water on his face and got a drink. Once back in the still warm bed, he stretched, groaning, and then curled up with his back to the older man. His master spooned behind him, tucking the bedding up over them both. Harm felt a chill pass through him, which the master noticed.

"Shhhh, go back to sleep now," the man whispered, wrapping his arm around Harm in a firm embrace.

Harm lay unmoving for quite a while, tucked up against his master. He could feel the man's heavy dick nestled against the crack of his ass. When he finally heard soft snoring sounds, he relaxed. He sighed heavily, covering his master's arm with his own, and holding it against his chest. Eventually, Harm fell asleep.

A few hours passed and the master awoke again. It was light outside, but still early by the master's standards. A tiny stream of light peeked over the top of the thick, dark drapes and drew a thin line on the ceiling, allowing the room to otherwise remain quite dark. He listened to Harm's steady breathing. Harm had folded his arms across his chest, trapping the man's arm against him. The master was hard, as he snuggled tighter against Harm's back, and he began to move his hand in lazy, caressing circles on Harm's chest.

Harm stirred, making mumbling sounds. The master moved his hips so that his erect cock rubbed against Harm's ass. Harm tensed immediately, revealing to the older man that he was indeed awake.

"No. Please don't," Harm implored, remembering all too well the pain of his sore ass from the previous evening. The master ceased his movements, then raised his head and leaned over to look at Harm's face. He was about to say something in response to Harm's insolence when Harm turned to look up into his stern, unmerciful eyes and continued to plead. "It'll hurt. I'll … I'll do anything you want. Just don't ... hurt me."

The fear in Harm's eyes and the break of his faltering voice instantly melted the master's anger. His expression softened, as he realized he could not refuse Harm's request.

"All right. Don't worry. I'm not gonna enter you," said the master, reassuringly. "And you don't have to do anything, so just relax." He decided that he would make this an example to show Harm that he could be trusted. His hand went back to stroking Harm's chest, as he wrapped himself around Harm's curled up body and pressed against Harm's back. The bedding still covered them both. He laid his head back down right behind Harm's head while Harm buried his right cheek into the softness of his pillow. Slowly, the master's hand slid lower and lower, caressing Harm's belly, until he reached the object he was seeking.

Harm stiffened slightly, trying hard not to show his apprehension of what the master was doing to him. He knew it would be useless to resist, but that did not lessen the revulsion he felt every time his body responded to his master's expert touch. He could not ignore the fingers caressing and fondling him, nor could he ignore his cock's reaction. 'Damn, why does that have to feel so fucking good?' Harm thought, as he grew hard. 'No control, no control … no… control … shit.' He sighed and pushed his face further into the pillow, giving himself over to an age-old primal urge.

The master was immensely gratified by the quick results of his attentions. He stroked more firmly now, his fist wrapped around Harm's erect shaft. Using his thumb, he deftly smeared the leaking pre-cum all around the ultra-sensitive head of Harm's member. Hearing Harm softly moan turned him on even more, and he pulled on Harm's cock in earnest.

Harm reacted by straightening out his legs, giving his master better access. The older man hooked his left leg over Harm's, his aching rod trapped tightly against Harm's ass cheeks. Harm's breathing grew harsh as the heat emanated from their sweating bodies. All of a sudden, he felt like he was burning up.

"Too hot," Harm mumbled, pushing the bed covers down with his free arm. The master released Harm's throbbing manhood for a few seconds to fling the bedding off further. Harm gasped, more at the interruption of momentum than the sudden exposure to cool air.

"Are you getting close?" His master growled in his ear.

"Yes," Harm whispered, his eyes tightly closed. The master grabbed the towel from the foot of the bed and shoved it, bunched up, against Harm's belly, before resuming his attention on Harm's neglected penis. Another minute of stroking and pumping, then Harm felt the familiar tightening as he neared his inevitable release.

The master listened to Harm's breath quicken. He watched as Harm's entire body went rigid, and then let go with a shudder as he came quietly, shooting his seed into the towel that was strategically placed at the tip of his pulsing cock. Then, the master finally pulled his hand away.

Harm, in a post-climax haze, remained on his right side just as he had throughout this strangely subdued encounter. He felt his master's chest pressing against his back, as well as the master's obvious excitement rubbing against his ass.

Making Harm come had extremely aroused the master. He slid down a bit until his aching hardness poked at the juncture of Harm's legs. Bringing his hand around to press his palm against Harm's belly, he held him in place while he thrust between Harm's inner thighs. His cock grazed against Harm's balls and perineum with every stroke. The jerking of his hips rocked them both back and forth as he reached the point of no return. Harm kept his legs together, and with a final hard thrust, the master groaned as he spilled his load.

The master held Harm tightly to him while he recovered. Harm was still in a stupor, so neither one moved for several minutes. Harm felt his master's semen sliding across his skin, and he simply shoved the towel between his legs to stop the dripping. Finally, the master rolled away from him and onto his back.

"Damn. Not a bad way to wake up in the morning," he said. There was no reaction from Harm. The master was feeling content and satiated, and part of him wanted to tell Harm that it was Christmas morning. "Come here, my sweet boy."

Harm finally turned over to his left side, facing his master. The older man pulled him into an embrace, patting his head as if he were a faithful, beloved dog. Harm sighed as he lay against him. The man's hand moved off his head and down to the back of his neck.

"I have a special day planned for us," the master said, gently rubbing Harm's neck. He turned his head to look at Harm. "Ready to share it with me?"

"If you say so, master," Harm wisely agreed. He knew by now to be careful of what he said and how he reacted, and was relieved that his master was in such a good mood this morning. That usually meant the difference between a bad day and an easy day. Though Harm would never go so far as to hope for a good day, he much preferred to have an easy time of it than the alternative. He could not help but wonder, however, why this was happening for the second day in a row, and he continued to be mystified by his master's inexplicably benevolent treatment. Harm would not dare to read anything more into it, or believe it meant anything at all. It was safer for him to just go along, and not try to figure out the master's motives.

The older man interrupted Harm's train of thought. "I need to get the heat cranked up and then see about us having some breakfast," he said to Harm, as he pulled his shoulder out from under Harm's head and rolled out of bed.

"Breakfast?" Harm raised his eyebrows in surprise. Surely, the master meant only himself, not both of them. "We're having breakfast?"

"Yeah, *we* are," his master replied jovially. "That is, unless you don't want any. I know you don't eat bacon, but you do eat eggs, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Harm answered quickly, as he perked up at the thought of food. "I mean, yes, master." He watched the man slip into his robe, and then open the door leading out of the room.

The master stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him. Harm could only hear muffled voices, but realized the master was speaking with his sandy haired assistant. Harm imagined that the young man had probably been posted out there for a while, and it was a good thing he hadn't acted on the urge to sneak out while his master was asleep. Harm knew damn well his captor always covered all the bases, and any escape attempts would have been disastrous. He would continue to bide his time and make the best of his situation.

The master returned momentarily and headed towards the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder at Harm. Harm was trying to clean himself up with the small towel. "It should warm up soon. Make yourself comfy while I grab a shower. Then it's all yours." The man went over to Harm and extended his hand. Harm handed him the towel, and then his master disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Harm sat up. As soon as he heard the water running, he got up out of the bed, determined to explore the room. First, he went to the window and separated the drapes to peek out, hoping for a glimpse at the outside world. The results were disappointing. The master had prepared well for every possibility. The windowpanes were covered with an opaque film of some kind, and though some light filtered through, Harm could not see anything. Not only that, the frame itself was nailed shut, preventing Harm from opening the window.

Frustrated, he moved about the room, noticing the lack of personal items on top of the dresser. He quietly slid drawers open, which contained nothing interesting, just an ordinary, jumbled mess of clothing. Harm walked around the foot of the bed, stopping in front of the armoire. The doors were closed, and he carefully pulled them open with a soft click. One side contained a combination television set and videotape machine. Next to that compartment, there were a couple of shelves, one of which had a neatly stacked pile of things on it. Something about the items seemed very familiar to Harm, as he stared at them. His eyes grew wide with shock at the recognition of his clothes and personal items in front of him. Neatly folded and clean, his jeans were at the bottom of the stack, followed by his sweater, tee shirt, boxers, and socks. On top of the stack lay his belt, wallet, keys and dog tags. His shoes sat on the shelf below that, and he imagined that his leather jacket might be hanging in the closet. The only other item missing was his cell phone.

With trembling fingers, Harm picked up and examined the wallet. Everything he remembered having on the night of his abduction was still in it, undisturbed. The shock of seeing all his things made the memories of that night come rushing back to him. Even worse, the memories of the life he had before then were flooding his mind as well. In that instant, Harm was overwhelmed with grief at the loss of his former life. It may have been far from perfect, but it was normal compared to his present existence.

Too stunned to move, Harm almost didn't hear the water from the shower turn off. A jolt of fear passed through him, and he quickly laid the wallet back where it had been and closed the armoire doors. He turned and headed back to his side of the bed, but was overcome with dizziness. The emotional turmoil was too much, and his world spun around him, his vision becoming blurry, then dark. Before Harm could reach the safety of the bed, he lost his balance and collapsed, sinking down to the floor.

The bedroom door opened at that moment and the young light haired assistant entered the room, carrying two cold bottled waters. He did not see Harm at first, but noticed right away that the bathroom door was closed with light shining through the cracks. He wondered if his boss and the captive were both in there together, or where else they could be. On full alert now, he set the bottles on the nightstand, deciding what to do next. Suddenly, he heard a sound, like that of a ragged, gasping breath. Moving swiftly towards the sound, he came around the bed to find Harm in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Jesus, what happened?" the young man exclaimed, kneeling down.

The bathroom door happened to open at that moment, revealing the master in his robe. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"I just found him on the floor like this," the young man replied with concern.

Harm was shaking. He at no point completely lost consciousness, and was therefore vaguely aware of what was happening around him. However, he couldn't seem to catch his breath and his limbs didn't want to cooperate as he struggled to get up. Harm found this predicament to be quite frightening, but he heard voices and tried to focus on that.

"Whoa, take it easy. Stop struggling," said the assistant, hovering over Harm.

"Listen to me, Harm. Just relax. Take a deep breath, nice and slow." The master droned in a soothing, comforting voice, as he knelt beside Harm. He placed his hand on Harm's forehead, lightly stroking back and forth. "Lie still for a minute and relax now. We've got you."

Harm was lying on his side, as he felt hands passing all over him, apparently checking for damage or injury. He noticed the worry in his master's voice, and the fact that he actually called him by name. Harm's breathing calmed a bit, and his vision was coming back into focus. He looked up, blinking, to find both men hovering over him.

"Are you in any pain?" his master asked.

"No."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Got dizzy … everything went black," Harm answered slowly. He frowned, still looking confused. "Must have stood up too fast."

The master seemed to accept Harm's explanation and held his hand up in front of Harm's face. "How many fingers do you see?"

"Three."

"Very good. Do you want to try to sit up?"

"Yeah, okay." Harm lifted his head as they helped pull him upright to a sitting position.

"How are you doing?"

"Better. I think it has passed."

"Come on, we'll get you back up on the bed." The two men stood and hooked their arms under Harm's and pulled him to his feet, then deposited him carefully onto the bed.

"I'm okay now, really." Harm felt awkward, being so fussed over. The master sat next to him, peering intently into his eyes, as though he didn't believe him.

The young assistant retrieved the bottled water and handed one to each of them. "Here. I had brought these up for you two."

"Ah, good," said the master. Harm's stomach chose that moment to gurgle noisily and the master chuckled. "I think I know what will make my boy feel better. We need to get some breakfast into him."

"That sounds really good," Harm smiled, chugging the cold water.

"I'll go get busy in the kitchen," said the fair-haired young man, as he exited the bedroom.

"You had me worried there," the older man admitted, putting his arm firmly around Harm's shoulder.

"I didn't mean to," Harm said, leaning against his master in response.

"It's okay, as long as you're all right now. Are you sure you can manage a hot shower by yourself?" Once more, he felt Harm's forehead with his hand.

"Uh-huh," Harm nodded.

"Well, you aren't feverish, so go have your private time in the bathroom. Take as long as you need. I'll be right here, so if you need help, or anything at all, yell."

"Thanks, I'll be fine."

The master watched closely as Harm walked to the bathroom, looking out for any signs of unsteadiness. After Harm closed the door, the man got up and opened the doors to the armoire and turned on the television, keeping the sound low. He kept himself busy, neatly making up the bed and fluffing the pillows. Then he stretched out on top of the comforter, leaned back against the pillows, and crossed his ankles. With the remote control in hand, he flipped channels while he waited.

Harm definitely took his time performing all his morning rituals. Enough time passed that the master was beginning to worry. It had taken awhile before he had finally heard the shower running, and more time elapsed after the water turned off. He wondered what Harm could still be doing in there, and if he was all right. Then, he remembered he had left the medicated ointment on the counter and realized Harm was probably still experiencing some discomfort. Still, the man was getting a little impatient.

The master went to his closet and pulled out a flat, white, rectangular box, setting it on the bed. He was about to go knock on the bathroom door, when it finally opened.

Harm stepped out, looking refreshed and smelling clean, his damp hair sticking up in spikes. He was somewhat surprised to see his master still wearing his burgundy robe and a pair of slippers, having assumed that the man would be dressed by now.

"Ah, you're done," the master grinned. "You look like you're feeling better."

"I am, thanks … master." Harm glanced past him at the box on the bed.

"Come here, my precious boy. I have a gift for you."

"A present? For me?" Harm's expression was full of surprise and curiosity. He padded over to the bed and stood near his master, who handed the box to him.

"Go ahead, open it."

Harm balanced the box on one palm, while he pulled the top off with his other hand and dropped it on the bed. "Oh, wow." Harm stared at the neatly folded garment of thick, plush velour.

The master was beaming. "Try it on." He held the box while Harm pulled the contents out, holding it up in front of him. It was a long robe with a shawl collar, an exact match in style to what the master was wearing, except in a rich, royal blue. Harm put it on. Even with his height, it came to well below his knees.

"It's so soft and warm," Harm murmured quietly, clutching the front of it against his chest.

"Looks good." The master smoothed the collar. "I knew this color would be great on you."

"It feels wonderful." Harm's eyes glittered. He was still emotionally fragile from the earlier incident that caused his collapse on the floor. "Thank you, master. This is so … unexpected." His voice hitched and he impulsively hugged the older man, catching him off guard.

"You're welcome, baby." The master wrapped his arms around Harm, patting his back. They held the embrace for a few moments; then the master stepped back and cupped Harm's face with his hands. He wanted so much to say 'Merry Christmas', but instead he said, "Let's go downstairs and eat."

Harm nodded. He wrapped the robe around himself, looking down at his sides.

"Sorry, but as a precaution, I can't allow you to have the belt. You'll have to make do," the master explained with a smirk. Harm seemed to understand. "Oh, I almost forgot. We need to keep your feet warm." He fetched a pair of the heavy, gray, hunting socks out of a drawer, handing them to Harm, who sat down on the bed and put them on.

"Ready to go?"

"Yes, master." Harm stood up slowly. His master put the pillowcase over his head to blindfold him, grabbed him by the hand, and guided him downstairs to the breakfast table.

When the hood was pulled off Harm's head, he found himself in the same room as the previous evening. He had discovered that by simply putting his hands in the pockets, he could overlap the front edges of the generously sized robe, therefore wrapping it snugly against himself to hold it closed.

The master instructed Harm to be seated in the same large, comfy chair as before. The small, round table was set with silverware and linen napkins. There were two large glasses of ice water, as well as two smaller glasses of orange juice. The older man studied Harm intently, amused that even after all this time, Harm had any modesty left. Today, he would allow Harm the comfort of covering himself up. It would be easy enough to order him out of that robe anytime he wanted access to Harm's body.

Almost immediately, the food arrived. The young, fair-haired man set two plates containing omelets and whole-wheat toast on the table, and then discreetly left. The master's plate also contained bacon and sausage, while Harm's plate was edged with grapes and chunks of cantaloupe.

The master smiled, as he watched Harm lick his lips in anticipation. "Dig in," he said, attacking his own food without further ado. Harm popped a grape in his mouth, then started poking his omelet apart, finding diced tomatoes, bell peppers, and mushrooms. He wasted no time wolfing everything down. After finishing every bite, he drank all the orange juice and most of the water. Harm looked over at his master, satiated and grateful, and noticed that he was finished, as well. They both leaned back in their chairs, the older man being completely relaxed, and Harm alert, not quite as relaxed.

The warmth from the fireplace felt good, as the fire crackled. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, neither one feeling the urge to make conversation at the moment.

The young assistant reappeared to take away the dishes. "Will there be anything else?" he asked his boss.

"Yeah, bring me a Bloody Mary." The master gestured to Harm. "You want one?"

"No, thank you, master," Harm replied. "Maybe some more water, though."

"By all means." To his assistant he said, "Make sure we have plenty of ice and water."

"Yes, sir." The young man cleared the table, leaving only the tall glasses. He returned within a few minutes with a large pitcher of ice filled water and the master's drink. The master got up and walked out of the living room with his assistant, both stopping in the hallway.

"No interruptions for the next several hours," he ordered in a low voice. "In fact, take a break. Take off for a while. It is Christmas, after all."

"Are you sure?" the young man asked quietly.

"Yeah, we'll be fine. I don't think there's any reason to worry. See you tonight?"

"Of course. Thanks, Chief. Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, yeah. You, too."

The master returned to the table, picked up his drink, and moved over to one end of the sofa, where he settled back in comfort. "Come sit with me."

Harm obeyed without hesitation. He realized, with the passage of time, he was becoming more and more used to his predicament. Unable to determine how good or bad that was nagged at the back of his mind, but the fight had long since gone out of him. His total resignation to whatever each day brought, helped to decrease his agitation and fear, at least some of the time. That, in turn, helped him to cope with the stress of not only what his life had been reduced to, but also his uncertain future and not knowing how long it would continue to go on this way. For now, he focused on the simple fact that his master was being kind and generous, and treating him fairly well. Harm would ensure that he remained on his best behavior. He could do nothing else.

Harm settled on the other half of the sofa, his robe tightly pulled around him, turning his body slightly towards his master.

The man gazed at Harm, smirking. "Decent breakfast, huh?"

"Better than decent, it was great. Thank you, master." Then adding quickly, "And I really like this robe, too."

"Well, good. Glad I could do something to make you happy." The master noticed that Harm looked away with a solemn expression. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Harm replied after a short pause, but the frown creasing his forehead deepened and the master knew it was time to push harder.

"Do you remember what I told you yesterday?" The man didn't wait for Harm to answer. "You can ask me anything you want without fear. We can talk about whatever you like today. I think it's time to have a real discussion, so go on, we have all the time in the world."

Harm slowly let out a deep breath. "I'm not sure where to begin; there's so much I don't understand. You promised not to get angry, right?

"I did," the master nodded. "No matter what. That offer is good through the end of the day."

"How do I know you'll answer my questions truthfully?"

"Well, I'll do my best. I may not be able to give you all the information you want, but I won't lie to you. Somehow, I believe you'll be able to tell."

"Okay." Harm completely faced his master now, folding one leg up underneath him, and still looking a bit unsure of himself. "How long have I been your prisoner?"

"Sorry, can't tell you that, don't want you to know."

"Oh, great. So much for a good start." Harm's tone was sarcastic, but his master chose to ignore it and remained calm. "How long are you going to keep me here?"

"Now, that I honestly don't know, because I haven't decided."

"Are you *ever* going to turn me loose?"

"Probably, eventually," the man shrugged. There was a minute of silence, as he watched Harm struggle with his thoughts.

"I guess I'm still confused."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, last night you told me you were fond of me, and you've been treating me special for two days now, not that I'm complaining, but I just don't get it. Are you saying that you're being nice to me because you care about me?"

"I do like you, a lot, but that's not the only reason. Remember, I told you good behavior would be rewarded. It's been some time since I've had to punish you. You learned quickly. Of course, first I had to break your will. The more accepting you became of your new life, the more privileges you earned. Yesterday and today are examples of how good I can make it for you. I want to show you how much I care for you, and it can get better and better. I can take care of you and give you so much more if you let me. You already need me and depend on me. I'm hoping, maybe someday, you'll see how simple it really can be, that you'll stay here and be with me willingly."

Harm's mind reeled from his master's explanation. "That just doesn't make any sense to me! I'm your prisoner; you've kept me here against my will. You tortured me, raped me, and blackmailed me until I lost all hope of escaping, of getting my own life back. You never gave me any choice!" Harm's voice kept rising in pitch, as he became more and more agitated, and his eyes flashed with anger. "Why? I need to know why you did this to me. Why me? What have I ever done to you?"

The master's cold eyes narrowed and bore through Harm. "I gave my word that I would not lose my temper. Now I need for you to calm down and control yourself," he warned.

"I'm sorry." Harm's voice softly quivered. He hung his head, his courage deflating rapidly, as apprehension took over. "Am I ever going to know the reason why?"

"Listen to me." The master sighed deeply. "I know you must believe I'm an old fool to ever think I could get you to stay of your own free will, but much has changed since all this began. Realistically, I know you would have run out of here the first chance you got, had I not had a sufficient threat hanging over your head. Someday, I will open the door for you to walk out freely, but remember even then, you'll never be truly free. To keep the people you care about from harm, you must always keep our secrets, knowing you'll never be able to achieve justice. Another thing to keep in mind is that you have nothing left to go back to. The life you knew is over; people believe you to be a deserter or dead.

"There are always choices, you know," the master continued. "You could choose to stay here and become my willing companion. Your life would go on much the same way as these past two days. I would take real good care of you. Better meals, more food, clothes, run of the house, access to books, no shackles, no locks." He grinned at Harm. "Not a bad deal, I would think."

"What's the catch?" Harm asked suspiciously.

"Well, you'd still be expected to be submissive to me and follow my rules. You would not be allowed to leave the house alone or without permission. Of course, any betrayal of my trust would be dealt with extremely harshly. As long as you know that, it is really quite simple."

"What would happen if I chose not to agree to this arrangement?" Harm asked carefully.

"That's a fair question," the master replied, pausing to consider his answer before continuing. "We would simply go back to the way it was before. You'd be taken back to the locked room tomorrow morning."

"And that would be indefinitely, until you decided otherwise?"

"That's correct," the master nodded. "Don't tell me your decision now. I want you to think long and hard about this. I would like to enjoy the rest of this pleasant day, relaxing. I will require your answer, but not before tonight."

Harm sat in stunned silence, as he absorbed all that his master had said. Knowing he would have plenty of time to sort through all the possible ramifications of his decision, he looked away from the steely eyes watching him, and stared blankly at the cozy fire. His life's path had taken yet another bizarre turn.

The master got up and walked over to the cabinets to the right of the fireplace. He picked out several compact discs and loaded them into the system.

"I'll be back shortly," he said without further explanation, as he left the room. Lively, big band jazz music wafted through the room, but Harm paid little attention to it. He was left alone with his thoughts, trying to make sense of their conversation. So much time had passed, he had been repeatedly broken down, living in fear, surviving on autopilot, and trying not to think or react or feel. Now, his emotions were overwhelming and confusing, he didn't know what to think. There was no way that he could be absolutely sure if his master was being truthful. Could he be trusted or was it more lies, more head games?

Harm's confidence had been destroyed in the process of breaking his will, his resolve severely shaken. He felt a deep disgust with himself for what he had become, loathing what he had been forced to endure, and a profound sorrow for all that he had lost. He could not see how he would be able to continue on, and yet, in order to be able to live with himself, he could come to only one decision.

His gut feelings told him what he must do. He could do nothing else.

Once Harm's mind was made up, he didn't want to dwell on it anymore. He had to try to distract himself for the rest of the day, as it would still be many hours before his master would allow him to give his answer. Harm became restless and focused on the music for a while. Though not familiar to him, it was interesting enough and he was mildly curious about what bands were playing. Looking to the doorway, he wondered when his master would return. Harm wanted to get up and stretch, but did not wish to do anything that might anger the man, so he stayed put on the couch.

It was quite some time before the master walked in. He was fully aware of the fact that Harm did not go snooping around, or attempt to leave the room, and that pleased him. The master passed by the sofa without a word to Harm, and he poked at the fire, adding a new log. He pulled a book from one of the shelves to the left of the fireplace, and then proceeded to sit in the recliner, as Harm watched warily.

Not a word was spoken. Harm wasn't about to be the first to speak, so he gave up staring at the man and gazed back into the fire. Troubling thoughts continued to plague Harm, as the master read his book, ignoring him. Harm was grateful for the music; otherwise the room would have been painfully quiet. Finally, his master glanced up at him.

"Could you hand me my drink please?" He was referring to the abandoned Bloody Mary that was left next to the sofa. Harm got up and brought it over to him. "Thanks." He went back to his book and Harm wandered over to the table to pour a glass of water from the pitcher.

"Excuse me, master." Harm's voice was soft and tentative.

"Yes?" The older man peered at Harm.

"May I use the bathroom?"

"Certainly. You know where to find it." The master's attitude was nonchalant. Harm realized he should be grateful that his master didn't seem to want anything from him at this time, but he had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

Harm returned shortly, his master not even looking up from whatever he was reading. Harm fidgeted, not sure what was expected of him, then flopped down on the sofa and continued to fidget with his robe. After a few minutes of that and glancing occasionally over to the man ignoring him, he began to study the room in detail, merely to pass time.  
There was so much cabinetry and bookshelves along the walls, he wondered if this living room was originally used as a library. Though it was comfortable, he noticed a stark lack of personal items or decorative knick-knacks. Everything was either functional or served some other purpose. He had been listening to the unusual mix of music coming out of the stereo speakers, finding the styles intriguing.

"Are you bored?" The master peered over at Harm.

"Huh? Uh … I just don't know what it is I'm supposed to do," Harm said, managing to avoid a direct answer to the question.

The master smirked. "Do whatever you please, doesn't matter to me. Enjoy the music, take a nap, or go pick out a book to read. I thought you would appreciate some quiet time." He went back to his reading.

Harm wandered over to the bookcases, perusing the contents of each shelf. Not only were there numerous books of many different types, but many of the shelves also contained the man's videotape and music collections. There were various novels and non-fiction books, and Harm noticed that the textbooks with themes of military history, psychological warfare, psy-ops, mind control, and other behavioral sciences, were up on the top shelf, just out of his reach. The open shelves went all the way up to the ceiling. However, the lower cabinets had sets of doors and they were all locked. Harm wondered what kinds of things the master kept in there.

"Master?"

"Yes?" The man looked up at Harm, who had ended up in front of the fireplace.

"I'm not too familiar with these CD's. May I see what selections are playing?" Harm asked politely, the curiosity getting the better of him.

"Sure. The covers are stacked over here." He pointed to the shelves past the right of the fireplace where the stereo system, as well as the rest of the electronic equipment, was located. "Take them and read them if you like."

Harm had to cross basically right past the recliner to reach the pile of five cases. He gingerly carried them back to the sofa and sat down to examine any album notes.

"What do you think of my choice in music?" the master asked Harm.

"Um, it's good, different, kind of unusual, I guess." Harm seemed interested, so the older man explained the differences between the artists. Harm learned that Buddy Rich, Rob McConnell and Don Ellis were considered to be his master's favorite modern big bands, and that Matrix and Weather Report were jazz fusion groups. The man clued Harm in on which CD was currently playing and in what order they were placed. Harm realized that the man must have a good deal of interest and knowledge on the subject, having noticed several books on jazz history, as well. After studying the disc cases, he put them back and went over to the books once more. Harm noticed the lack of magazines, newspapers, or anything in the room that would give any clue of the date. Not wanting to start a novel, but needing to find something to distract his mind and pass the time, Harm selected a hard cover book of short essays, poetry, and speeches.

Harm settled into a corner of the long couch with his book. After reading for several minutes, he had trouble keeping his eyes open. The room was toasty warm, and his head began to droop. Giving up on the book, Harm laid it down. Finally, he lay down on his left side, facing the fireplace, stretching his legs out the length of the sofa. His eyes closed, and the music started to sound farther away. Within a few minutes, his features relaxed, his breathing even and deep. After looking at Harm, the master stood up with a smirk on his face, and left the living room.

Some time later, Harm awoke gradually. He had rolled onto his back, and his robe had fallen open, exposing him. Stretching slightly, he did not open his eyes right away, instead just listening to the music. He wondered how long he had slept, and then became aware that the music sounded much different than before, and that there were other sounds as well, but they didn't register in his drowsy state just yet. Suddenly, Harm's eyes snapped open, as he turned his head towards the recliner.

The master was leaning back in the large, overstuffed chair, watching the television. Startled, Harm sat up quickly to see what was on the screen. Instantly he realized that the man was watching an adult pornographic film. There were images of an explicit orgy scene, groups of men and women engaging in various graphic sexual acts. Harm was speechless.

The master turned to glance at Harm. "Ah, good. You're finally awake. Watch the show with me."

"Um, no thank you." Harm was appalled and looked away.

"That wasn't a request, boy. I said watch the show." The master glared at him briefly. Harm felt a shudder of fear pass through him upon hearing the change in tone. He could do nothing other than to obey his master's wishes, and sat there stiffly, morbidly transfixed by the scenes transpiring in front of his eyes.

Harm glanced over at his master, only to discover that the man was not only enjoying the video, but was proceeding to masturbate in his presence. Harm went from disgust to shock in one fell swoop, as he witnessed the master stroking his own manhood to erection.

"Come over here, boy, and take care of your master."

Harm hung his head, then got up and walked over to his master.

"On your knees and lose the robe."

Harm dropped the robe off his shoulders and it puddled around his feet. He then knelt between his master's knees.

The man's hard cock poked stiffly through the opening in his robe. Once he guided his thick, weeping member into Harm's waiting mouth, he released his grip on himself and locked his hands behind his head, leaning back to enjoy the view. The master alternated between watching the sex tape and watching Harm suck him off.

Harm worked relentlessly, with the intent of bringing his master off quickly, before the man would have a chance to stop and decide to take his ass instead. Between the strong suction of his mouth and his fist pumping the shaft, he knew it wasn't going to take long. The master liked it hard and rough, he seemed to get off on mixing a little pain with his pleasure. When he got close to the point of release, he thrust hard, stabbing the back of Harm's throat. Harm tightened his grip, taking his master over the edge, the salty essence pouring down his throat. Only after the man's cock finished pulsing, did Harm release him from his mouth, coughing and gagging as he tried to catch his breath. Harm's throat hurt, his jaw was sore, but it was over, and he sat down weakly on the rug. He had finished, did what he had to do, satisfied his master, and successfully managed to avoid getting fucked.

Harm couldn't seem to find the strength to stand up, but he was desperate for some water.  
He crawled on all fours over to the table, not caring that he did so. He managed to kneel, reach up, grab the pitcher, and pour a glass. The ice had long since melted, but that didn't matter to him.

The master, recovering from his climax, watched this entire display. "What the hell are you doing?"

Harm nearly dropped the pitcher as he abruptly set it down. He got back on all fours and hung his head. "I'm sorry, master. I'm just very thirsty." Harm's voice came out hoarse and raspy, and he coughed again. He might have actually bruised his throat.

"No, I mean why are you crawling?" The master was a bit curious and wanted to hear Harm's explanation.

"It seemed easier at the time than getting up." Harm did not want to admit to feeling weak and dizzy. However, his master figured it out anyway.

"Aw, jeez, drink your water already." He turned off the television and got up from the recliner, while Harm reached up for the glass and chugged down the slightly cool water.  
Harm was considering making an attempt to stand, when he looked up and saw the master's hand reaching out to help him up. The older man pulled Harm to his feet and led him over to the sofa. He held Harm's robe in his hand, as he sat down.

"Come sit with me and just relax." He patted his leg. Harm knew exactly what that meant, and it was a good thing. This he could do easily. Crawling up next to his master, Harm curled up on his side and laid his head on the man's thigh. The master took Harm's robe and spread it loosely over him.

"Mmmm." As he sighed, Harm caught himself thinking what a kind gesture it was for his master to cover him. The man had one hand on Harm's shoulder, and stroked his forehead with the other. It was quiet times like these that Harm felt as close to being at ease as he possibly could.

"Rest now, my sweet boy." The master ran his hand through Harm's hair, gently petting his head. "You feeling okay?"

"Uh-huh. It comes and goes."

"I know." Even without any further explanation from Harm, the man was fully aware of the reasons for Harm's dizzy spells. His body's weakness was no surprise; it was to be expected.

The master let a few minutes pass in silence before he spoke again. "You've done well, you know."

Harm, not knowing how to react, waited and said nothing.

"And I don't mean just the sex," the man continued. "Though you *have* gotten quite good at giving head." He chuckled, apparently finding that comment amusing, then his tone became serious again. "I enjoy having you around and I want to continue to take care of you." After a long pause, he added, "Just wanted you to know that." With that, he moved his hand from Harm's shoulder, slid it underneath the robe, and began caressing him. First he lightly stroked up and down Harm's side. Next, his fingers moved to the front, tickling across Harm's chest, then moving down over his belly.

Harm held his breath, as fingers wrapped around his limp member. His master teased him, played with him, but his cock did not stir. The caresses were light, a half-hearted attempt at getting a response. Harm knew if his master was determined enough, he could probably get his body to cooperate.

"It's not gonna happen right now, is it?" the man asked.

Harm shrugged. "Can't seem to … I … I just can't" … The words trailed off. His mind was just too preoccupied, more so than usual. A new uneasiness enveloped him now, as he worried that he had angered his master.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Your loss," the master stated. He cupped Harm's balls for a moment, before withdrawing his hand. "Just thought I'd make you feel good, give you what you gave me earlier."

"Not necessary," Harm murmured, breathing a sigh of relief. Once he was convinced his master wasn't angry with him, he relaxed again. The master's hands were still petting him, but in an affectionate way, stroking his arm, shoulder and head.

Since the master had not resumed the music on the stereo system, it was very quiet in the living room, as the minutes ticked by. Harm lay quietly, eyes closed, but he was not asleep. He felt his master's hands resting on him, unmoving.

"Master?" Harm whispered.

"What?" The man looked down and ran his fingers through Harm's disheveled hair.

"Am I still allowed to talk and ask questions about anything?"

"Yes. You have something on your mind?"

"Yeah, I do." Harm debated whether to try sitting up, deciding to turn onto his back instead. He kept his head on his master's lap, and looked up.

"Go ahead."

Harm remained somber. "I … uh … I've been wondering something for a long time." He hesitated, trembling slightly, but managed to keep his gaze locked on his master's eyes.

"Well, spit it out already, my boy," the man smiled patiently, patting Harm's face.

Harm took a deep breath. "Why couldn't you at least use condoms?" He watched for the master's reaction, and was met with stunned silence. The look on the man's face made Harm wish he had never asked the question.

Suddenly, the master burst out laughing. "Well, of all the questions I could possibly imagine, I sure as hell never expected that one!"

"Never mind," Harm said petulantly. "I don't see what's so funny." He started making a move to sit up.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that, boy." The man pressed his palm against Harm's chest, effectively pinning him down. Harm gave up immediately. "You do deserve an answer, though." No longer grinning, he continued. "As I've told you before, I know all I need to know about you. I did my research, had you checked out, and I know you're healthy."

Harm snorted. "It's not *your* safety I'm worried about."

"No, really? I didn't think so." His words dripped with sarcasm. "You're just gonna have to trust me on this. I'm clean."

Harm wasn't going to take his word for it, but he didn't dare say so. He was not convinced that he had nothing to worry about; the issue had been bothering him since the beginning of his captivity. He had no way to be certain that he could believe anything the master ever said. Feeling bitterly discouraged, he looked away from the master's intense gaze, and turned back to his side.

"Hey, hey … don't get upset on me now." The man grinned as he gripped Harm's chin, pulling his face back towards him. Harm turned and looked up, meeting his eyes, his expression unreadable. The master patted Harm's cheek twice. "Let's change the subject. What else would you like to talk about?"

"Nothing," Harm replied sullenly.

The smile abruptly left the master's face. "Fine. Looks like my boy is a bit moody." He grabbed Harm's robe and yanked it off him. "Get up," he commanded.

Startled by the change in tone, Harm sat up quickly, alarm registering on his face. The master was already on his feet in front of him, his voice low, but deadly. "Don't ever forget your place, boy. You *will* adjust your attitude; I won't put up with any shit from you."

"I … I'm sorry, master." Harm looked scared now. He had fucked up. Whatever his master had said about not getting angry did not apply now. He was tempted to beg and plead, to ask for forgiveness, but he simply froze, as the master glared down at him.

After several moments of deciding what to do, the master pointed to the floor. Harm slid off the couch and onto his hands and knees, keeping his eyes downcast. "Stay. Right here. I'm giving you some time to think about things." Walking around Harm, he left the room to get a drink and a smoke, and to see about dinner. Of course, Harm would not know that, he thought, shaking his head. He hated to ruin Harm's day, leaving him naked on the floor like that, letting him think he was angry. He had to maintain control, however, and give Harm a small reminder of who was the master and who was the slave. It was all just part of the game.

Harm had no idea how much time went by, and he was beyond frustrated. This was definitely a step backward. He had to be more careful, not let his emotions slip out. 'Damn it,' he thought. He should have never believed that the man would not get angry, 'no matter what.' He should have known that today was too good to be true. He should have kept his mouth shut. Even though his back and his knees started hurting, he stayed where he was. If his master had wanted him to sit on the sofa, he'd have left him there. Harm looked around. His robe lay in a heap where the master had dropped it. Having it had quickly spoiled Harm. Oh well, at least the room was warm. He tried not to let this setback get the better of him, but it was difficult not to give in to the fear of whatever lay ahead. As the minutes crawled by, Harm could not help but feel utterly defeated.

Even in the daytime, the heavy drapes were kept closed and the lights in the living room kept on, making it hard to tell when darkness fell. The afternoon gave way to evening. Unbeknownst to Harm, the master had gone out for a while, celebrated at a Christmas party, and returned. He was in the kitchen, unpacking food he had brought home from the restaurant, when one of his assistants showed up at the kitchen door.

"Hey, Chief, how you doin'?" the young fair-haired man grinned, as the older man let him in. He was carrying a couple of bags. "I got some leftovers from Christmas dinner. Have you eaten yet?"

"I only grabbed some munchies at a party. Might as well put that here with the stuff I brought home. Looks like we got ourselves a whole feast here."

The young man was very surprised. "You actually left the house today? Wasn't that risky, leaving him all alone here?"

"He didn't have a clue," the man laughed. "Still doesn't. I know I took a chance, but it worked out fine."

"Incredible."

"Yeah, he's something else. Go peek around the corner to the living room, quietly. Don't let him know you're there."

"Sure, Chief." The assistant took off his coat, then pulled off his boots and left them by the back door. He tiptoed silently down the hall in his socks, while the older man organized all the different bowls and containers onto large trays.

The young man returned within moments.

"Well?"

"He's on the floor in front of the couch," the assistant said quietly.

"Good. That's where I left him."

"Chief, maybe you should go check on him." The light haired man sounded concerned, and his boss gave him a questioning look. "I think he's crying."

"Shit." The master rubbed his forehead and paced around the table, deciding how best to proceed. "Okay, do me a favor. I think some of this food is going to need reheating anyway. While you take care of all that, I better go do some damage control."

"You got it, Chief."

Harm had hunkered down on his knees and elbows, legs folded underneath him, his head hanging low enough to rest on his clasped hands. After having been left alone for over two hours, fear and despair had pushed aside any feelings of anger he had earlier. He was expecting the worst, his imagination running wild with visions of dire consequences.

By the time the master walked in, Harm was in a state of stress overload. The master could see Harm was visibly shaking, but heard no sounds other than ragged breathing and intermittent sniffling. Harm did not hear the man come up beside him. The master leaned over and placed his hand on Harm's back. The unexpected touch shocked Harm so badly, that he flinched violently with a strangled yelp, nearly falling over. He scrambled in a panicked attempt to get away, and ended up with his back pushed against the sofa.

"Hey, calm down. It's just me. Calm down." The master spoke gently, moving slowly, holding out his hand. Harm was a mess. His eyes were red, he had a runny nose, and he trembled. "Get up, my boy." Harm grabbed his master's hand and allowed himself to be helped up, his stiff joints and muscles protesting. Standing meekly in front of the man who had all the power, who controlled everything, Harm wiped at his wet face and hung his head.

"Please don't be mad at me, master," Harm sniffed, leaning against his master for support. He rested his cheek on the man's shoulder, his voice muffled against his master's neck. "You said you wouldn't get mad; you promised."

The older man wrapped his arms around Harm and stroked his back. "Who am I?"

"You're my master."

"Who do you belong to?"

"You. I belong to you."

"That's right. All is forgiven. Consider it a time-out."

"I'm sorry for making you mad, master." Harm lifted his head.

"I'm not mad." He cupped Harm's face with both hands and kissed him square on the lips. "Now, go get cleaned up. I've got food coming, so I hope you're hungry."

Harm's face brightened with a small smile as he nodded. He turned to head towards the bathroom.

"You forgot something," the master said as he picked up the blue robe. He held it open for Harm to slip his arms in, then lifted it up onto his shoulders and smoothed the collar. "There you go, baby."

"Thanks." Harm shuffled off with a slight limp, arms hanging loosely at his sides. The robe hung open in the front, yet he made no attempt to pull it closed. The master watched him go, fully realizing how his actions had turned Harm into a fragile, emotional yo-yo. He just hoped that all of his carefully orchestrated plans would not backfire on him.

By the time Harm returned, the master and his assistant had brought out the various food dishes, filling the round table so full that they had to stack plates, silverware and napkins on a smaller end table along with glassware and beverages. Harm walked in, a little bit surprised to see the young, light haired man, but otherwise passive and back in control. He instinctively stuck his hands in his pockets, overlapping the front edges of his robe, and stood awkwardly waiting.

"You look better." The master grinned at him. "Come here and have some food. It's sort of a hodge-podge buffet, but I hope you'll find something to your liking. Plates and all that are over there; just help yourself. What do you want to drink?" The master seemed animated and talkative, holding his usual glass of bourbon.

"Anything is fine," Harm murmured. Next to a few glasses, there was a pitcher of ice water, a bucket full of ice, and different bottles of liquor and soda. Harm waited until after his master walked away with his plate and his drink. He then moved tentatively toward the tables, perused the assorted food items, and realized he was hungry. Harm had to take his hands out of his pockets to grab a plate and utensils, realizing his robe would hang open. It just didn't concern him anymore; there was nothing that they hadn't seen a hundred times. After passing up the various meats, Harm selected what appeared to be a vegetable casserole, some rice pilaf, stuffed mushrooms, fruit salad, and a few small pieces of cheese. His hands full, he decided to come back afterward for something to drink.

"We're going to watch one of my favorite movies this evening," the master announced to Harm. Harm noticed the television was turned on and the older man was seated in the recliner. Finding the young assistant sitting at one end of the sofa, it became apparent to Harm that he was staying as well. The fair-haired man had poured himself a drink, but did not take a plate of food. He mentioned to Harm that he had eaten dinner already, and might nibble on something later. Harm made himself comfortable on the other end of the sofa, tucking his robe over his lap, and settling in with his supper as the video started.

"What are we watching?" Harm whispered to the young man.

"Under Siege. It's a kick-ass action flick with Steven Seagal." He looked at Harm's blank expression and laughed. "Don't tell me you've never seen it!"

Harm shrugged. "I never got into much T.V."

"Well, I bet you'll enjoy this."

The movie ended up being an interesting diversion, a temporary escape from the reality of Harm's woeful existence. He sipped Jack Daniels and ended up watching how much fun the other two were having. It was obvious they had seen the film several times. Harm learned that the master's favorite part was when Seagal's character ripped a terrorist's throat out with his bare hands. He wondered if the movie was really just his master's attempt to stall their inevitable discussion.

When the master turned off the television, the assistant got up and excused himself. The older man came over and sat next to Harm.

"What did you think of that movie?" the master asked.

"It was … entertaining," Harm answered politely.

"I thought you might like it, you know, being Navy and all." The master paused. "It's time. You've had all day to make your choice. Have you reached a decision?"

The moment Harm had been dreading was here. He nodded, took a deep breath, and lowered his head, unable to meet his master's intense eyes.

"I can't." The words came out in little more than a whisper. "I can't do this. I can't be what you want me to be willingly. I can't pretend to *want* to stay here with you, even though I know that by saying no, I risk your wrath. Even if I said yes, it would be out of fear of saying no to you. I never had a choice, and I still don't, not really, not when your threats and punishments are always hanging over me. I'm hoping you'll appreciate my honesty. I can't lie to you, but more than that, I can't lie to myself."

"I see." The master's looked and sounded grim. "You do realize what you're throwing away, all I'm willing to give you, don't you?"

"I know." Harm looked up, trying to read his master's reaction. "How angry are you?"

"Not angry. Disappointed." The master reached out and gripped Harm's shoulders. "In a way, I'm not really all that surprised either. I now realize that you are more stubborn and your will is stronger than I originally gave you credit for. Maybe you're not as brain-washed as you've led me to believe."

Harm's eyes widened with a new terror. "I've done everything you wanted. What more do you want from me?"

"Who do you belong to?" the master asked sharply.

"I belong to you, master," Harm responded automatically. "You are my master and I am yours to do with whatever you choose. You have all the power and control; I am nothing."

"You are *mine* and don't you forget it!" The master sounded furious now and abruptly stood up. He glared down at Harm. "In fact, tomorrow we'll make sure you will *always* remember that."

Harm knew immediately that couldn't be good, and that he was in big trouble. He sank to his knees in front of the master, slipping his robe off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He held his arms straight out to the side, palms up, offering himself to his master.

"I can't help how I feel, master. Surely, you can't blame me for doing what I had to do in order to survive, to protect people I care about." As Harm looked up, his eyes welled up with tears, and he was disgusted with himself for his weakness. He had vowed to himself earlier that he would stay strong to get through this, but now his courage abandoned him yet again. "Please, master, I'm begging you for another chance. I'll be good. I'll try harder. Please!" He threw his arms around the master's legs, in a last-ditch, desperate attempt for mercy.

"Nice try, but it has been decided," the master said firmly. "Now, let go of me, boy." He stepped back. "I'll let you know if or when I think you're ready for that second chance. In the meantime, we start back at the very beginning and there is no point in waiting until morning."

"I … I don't understand," Harm said feebly.

"Well, it's quite simple. You made your choice. It wasn't the one I hoped for; otherwise we'd be going upstairs by now. It's getting late and now it's *my* choice not to have you share my bed tonight." The master walked away, leaving Harm alone in the room.

Harm sank back on his heels and dropped his chin to his chest. He had known it wasn't going to go well, and the outcome was about what he expected. However, he felt totally unprepared to deal with the fact that he had sealed his own fate.

Harm did not have to wait long. The master and the young assistant returned carrying various items.

"Stand up," ordered the master. First, the hood was placed over Harm's head, so that he could see nothing. The chain was slipped around his neck. He then felt the heavy metal shackles being clamped onto each wrist and each ankle.

"No, no-o-o-o-o-o." Harm whimpered weakly. They discussed him like he wasn't there.

"Do we have all the equipment we need for tomorrow's project?" The older man addressed his assistant.

"Yes, sir. Everything's in order," replied the light haired man.

"I'll need both of you here in the morning. We're starting all over, regular routine. Don't cut him any slack. In fact, hang him up tonight."

"Oh-god … please … no." Harm wept openly now. Suddenly he was knocked off balance by a stinging slap to his face, and pushed roughly down to his knees.

"Shut up. Pull yourself together, boy. No more begging, no more crying. No one has any sympathy for you." Harm went silent, biting his lip to keep from crying out in his rage and despair. The tears continued to flow, unseen beneath the blindfold.

The master turned to his assistant, lowering his voice. "Get him out of my sight. You can walk him down the stairs, but the rest of the way, he crawls."

"Yes, sir." The young man yanked on the leash, pulling Harm behind him. It took a little time to make their way down to the chilly, dank basement. By then, Harm's knees were in terrible pain. Once there, Harm was hoisted up in the sling, and his limbs were shackled to the poles. The assistant placed a pail on the floor beneath him and pulled off the hood.

"You know, you had me fooled. I thought you were so far gone, I can't believe you defied him." The young man spoke softly.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"Well, let me put it this way; you made the wrong choice."

"Don't you think I knew that going in?" Harm spat the words out, his eyes full of fury and hatred. "Besides, there was never any real choice. He can force me to do just about anything, but he can't make me … love him, and that pisses him off."

"Oh man, you got balls, I'll give you that." The fair-haired man shook his head. "Hope for your sake it was worth it, because things are gonna get so much worse." With that, he left Harm in the dark to think about those last, parting words. Harm did not sleep at all that night.

***

The next day, Harm survived the morning ritual with no fuss. It was an old, familiar routine, and he was too tired to care. They had dried him off afterwards, but he continued to shiver, most likely a combination of cold and apprehension. Harm was also very aware that no one offered him any water all morning, and he was beyond thirsty. When he finally got up the courage to request some, he was blatantly ignored. All he could do was hang there, and wait.

The master had not slept well, either. Even slamming down a few belts after sending Harm away did not help. He got up late and in a lousy mood, and it was past noon by the time he decided to show up.

All three of them walked in together. The two assistants set various items on the table and began preparations, while the master walked around Harm to check on him. He pulled Harm's head up to peer into a pair of bloodshot eyes with deep, dark shadows underneath.

"Did you miss me?" The master sneered, mockingly, not really expecting an answer. He dropped Harm's head, and moved around behind him, trailing his fingers across Harm's skin.

"Is he all cleaned out?"

"Yes, sir," replied the light haired man.

"Good." The master spread Harm's cheeks and examined his ass. "He's healed nicely. Is everything ready?"

"Soon."

"Okay. While I'm waiting, I'm feeling the need to take what's mine. "I'm sure my boy won't mind, will you, boy?"

"Whatever," Harm mumbled. With his head hanging, he could see down past his body. Though seeing upside down, he watched his master pull out a tube, drop his pants and lubricate his already stiff cock. Then, he probed and loosened Harm's ass with coated fingers, before pushing his erection into him. He started slowly, and after a few strokes, he thrust deeper, until everyone in the room could hear his balls slapping against Harm's body.

Harm took it quietly, biting his lip. Only a few grunts of discomfort escaped. He stole a glance over to his right. The two guys seemed to be too busy to pay much attention. Harm was nevertheless humiliated at being fucked in their presence. He closed his eyes until he heard the master groan. Harm knew that meant it would be over soon. He looked up and caught both young men watching him now.

"Oh-god." Harm realized he had said that out loud. In the next instant, the master shot his essence into him, keeping him impaled until his member softened. He pulled out momentarily, and Harm was empty once again. Harm sighed with relief; it didn't hurt much. The physical pain was nothing compared to his mental anguish.

"Damn!" The master chuckled. "I didn't think I'd come that soon."

The two assistants stood by, grinning and applauding the performance. Harm felt a hot flush creep up his neck and face, and hung his head. He licked at his dry, parched lips.

"So thirsty," he whispered. Nobody heard him.

"We're ready to do this, Chief," the dark haired man announced.

The master came around to face Harm. "I'm going to explain to you the reason I'm doing this, baby. The past two days I treated you very well. I gave you numerous gifts to show you I care about you and to reward you. Now you're going to give me a gift in return. You are going to wear my mark. No matter what happens in the future, you will always have a permanent reminder that you are mine. You belong to me forever."

"You … you're going to tattoo me?" Harm was appalled.

"No. Tattoos take too long and can be removed. This will not only be quicker, but deeper, and therefore much harder to get rid of. Unfortunately, it's going to be extremely painful." He signaled the dark haired man who tied a gag around Harm's head. "I can't stop you from screaming, but at least you won't be able to bite your tongue, and I won't have to listen to your babbling and begging."

Harm's eyes were wild with panic. He kept turning his head, trying to see what was happening.

"Where do you want it, boss, on his ass cheek?"

"No. On the side of his hip, make it the left one. A little more to the front, I want him to be able to see it easily." Harm felt something wet being swabbed on his skin across the area of his left hip. He then heard the sound of what was a small blowtorch being used to superheat the metal until it was red-hot, and the horrific realization hit him that they meant to brand him. He went crazy, thrashing against his restraints, and moaning against the gag in his mouth.

"The more you struggle, the larger the area of skin that will burn, so try your best not to move," the master instructed. He went over to the table and clicked on the CD player, cued up a track and turned it up very loud, drowning out Harm's incoherent attempts to protest.

*Realized I can never win  
Sometimes I feel like I have failed  
Inside where do I begin  
My mind is laughing at me  
Tell me why am I to blame  
Aren't we supposed to be the same  
That's why I will never tame  
This thing that's burning in me

I am the one who chose my path  
I am the one who couldn't last  
I feel the life pulled from me  
I feel the anger changing me...*

"He's bound to jump and flinch, but hold him as still as you can!" shouted the master. The assistants got on opposite sides of Harm's body, bracing themselves and pinning Harm firmly between them. The master was satisfied that the branding iron was ready and turned off the blowtorch. "Ready? Let's do it!" They held Harm steady with all their strength, as the master aimed and made contact, instantly searing his skin several layers deep. It took only a few seconds, and it was done.

Harm went rigid and screamed a long, high-pitched wail. The sizzling, white-hot pain was so intense; it was like no other he had ever known. Those seconds seemed to last an eternity. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Even after the rod was taken away, the pain was so fierce, that it took his breath away. Harm continued to hyperventilate and moan in agony.

*...Betrayed  
I feel so enslaved  
I really tried  
I did my time  
I did my time  
I did my time  
I did my time  
I did my time

I am the one who chose my path  
I am the one who couldn't last  
I feel the life pulled from me  
I feel the anger changing me

Oh god the anger's changing me  
Oh god the anger's changing me*

Abruptly, the song ended, and the sound of Harm keening weakly could be heard in the stillness of the room. Unaware of anything going on around him, he focused solely on the pain radiating from his hip.

"It's perfect!" remarked the master, as he admired his handiwork. "A clean job, nice and even, should heal quickly. Let's be sure to keep it clean though, don't want it to get infected."

"Yes, sir," said the fair-haired man. The two assistants packed up the equipment while the master went to check on Harm. The master brought over a chair, sat directly in front of him, and pulled up Harm's head to look into his glazed over eyes. He then removed the gag from Harm's mouth.

"You were a good boy. I'm so proud of you."

Harm tried to speak, but no sound came out. All he could do was cough.

"Would you like some water now?"

Harm nodded mutely, and the dark haired man brought over a cup and straw. The master allowed Harm only a few sips, before taking it away.

"Terribly painful, isn't it?"

Harm nodded again, grimacing with his teeth clenched together.

"You withstood the pain bravely, so you deserve a reward. How does that sound?"

"Okay," Harm agreed, thinking he was going to receive more water. The master nodded to the two assistants behind Harm.

"You see, my boy, pleasure and pain can go hand in hand at times. The fine line between them can even be exhilarating." The master chuckled at the confused look on Harm's face and continued to explain. "I'm not saying we can take away your pain, but pleasure can distract you from it."

The master cupped his hand under Harm's chin to hold his head up. Harm heard a humming, buzzing sound; then suddenly felt something cool, slick and smooth inserted into his rectum. He was overwhelmed by an intense, tingling sensation, as the object vibrated against his prostate.

"Ohhh." Harm gasped, the shock on his face evident. His cock, hanging heavily, stiffened almost immediately. The buzzing pressure on his prostate was relentless, and he quivered all over, his hard cock throbbing.

"Let yourself go, my sweet boy," the master crooned hypnotically. "Let the pleasure wash over you. Release yourself to it."

Harm squeezed his eyes shut, and the master let go of his chin, allowing his head to drop down. The light haired young man slid the long, slender dildo in and out of Harm's tight passage, causing intermittent flashes of ecstatic contact across his magic spot, in addition to the constant, vibrating sensation. The result was very effective.

"Oh-my-god," Harm whimpered, trying desperately to buck his hips, but unable to move, held tight by his bonds. All he could do was clench and tighten his muscles around the object that was transporting him to a state of delirium. The dark haired assistant came up next to Harm and stroked his aching cock for him. Harm let out a long moan.

"That's it, baby. As soon as you come, I'll get you more water, plus I'll get you down from there. Just let it happen." The master's words of promise encouraged Harm to concentrate on the pleasure, to allow it to sweep him away. Harm was becoming dangerously close to his release.

"Stop," the master said. The vibrator was abruptly removed from Harm's ass, and the hand withdrew from his cock.

"What the …" Harm's head shot upward, his expression wild.

"Do you want more?" asked his master.

"Yes," Harm hissed. "Please."

After a nod from the master, the two young men resumed bringing Harm back up to a frenzied state. Again, the master stopped them, preventing Harm's climax. Harm whimpered again, practically mewling with frustration.

"Tell me what you want, boy. You have to say it."

"Please. Let me come, master," Harm pleaded, panting heavily.

"You'll have to do better than that. Convince me you want it."

"Oh, master. Please let me finish. I need to come so bad. I'll do anything you want," Harm whined desperately, dropping his head back down in defeat.

"That's pretty good begging, but now you have to ask them nicely what you want them to do for you."

Harm looked past his raging erection at the two young men, one standing behind his ass, the other beside his hip. "Would you make me come … please?" As if on cue, the light haired man began caressing Harm's balls, while the dark haired one pinched his nipples. They teased him mercilessly, keeping him on the edge.

"What exactly do you want them to do? Be more specific. Tell them, and maybe they'll get you off," ordered the master.

"Oh-god." Harm surrendered to the indignity of having no control over his own body. The master had all the power; the master always pushed all the right buttons. He knew how much his master got off on hearing him beg, and he would say whatever the man wanted to hear, if it meant ending his torment sooner. "I need … oh, please … jerk me off." He felt a hand stroking his cock, and the words started spilling out of him in a torrent of need. "Ahhhh … pump my dick. Please, don't stop!"

"What else?" The master held Harm's head up, their faces practically nose to nose. "Don't you want him to fill your ass, stroke your sweet spot?"

"Yes! Oh-god, yes!" Harm broke down completely, as he felt the dildo pushing into his ass, vibrating and shivering inside him. "Oh, fuck! Please … fuck my ass, make me come!" They took Harm swiftly to the brink, his ass and cock on fire with the friction he needed. The master held his face, and Harm thought he would die if they stopped now, so he let loose the words that he thought his master had been waiting to hear.

"Oh, master. I need you … I … I need this. Please, have mercy on me. I want … I want you to take care of me … I want … this." Harm felt the familiar tightening in his groin, signaling he was about to explode.

"Close enough, my sweet, sweet boy." The master laughed at him, not believing that Harm meant a word of it. "Finish him," he nodded to his assistants. The fair-haired man thrust the slick vibrator faster, fucking Harm's ass, while the dark haired man increased the pressure on Harm's shaft, pumping him vigorously.

"Oh … Ohhhh … Aaahhhhh!" Harm came with excruciating intensity, seeing stars. As he rode out his orgasm, he sobbed, his jaw slack. The master ravaged Harm's open mouth with lips and tongue. All Harm could do was moan into his master's mouth. Finally, the master released him. Harm went limp, sobbing and gasping for air. The pail beneath him had captured the evidence of his climax.

"Good job, you two," said the master. He stood up and ruffled Harm's hair with his hand. "Now, what do you say to me for letting you come?"

"Thank you, m-master," Harm responded, whimpering.

"And how about these nice men for giving you pleasure?"

"Thank you," Harm murmured, dejectedly. "Thank you for getting me off."

Both assistants chuckled. "You're welcome."

"Our pleasure."

"Good boy. I'm gonna take care of you now," said the master. "By the way, you owe them each a blow-job, but they’ll collect some other time."

Harm was brought a drink of water and allowed to sip a little bit at a time. The men unhooked him and got him off the suspended harness. Harm's legs felt like rubber; he was unable to stand under his own power, so they picked him up off the floor. With one arm each slung over their shoulders, the two assistants held Harm up between them and walked him over towards the table. The master stood in front of him.

"You now bear my mark and it looks beautiful on you, baby. I love it. What do you think?" The master wanted Harm to look, so he did.

Harm gazed down at his left hip. Dark brown, almost black lines were neatly seared into his flesh, forming a perfect letter, approximately two inches in size.

"I don't understand." Harm was bewildered. "It looks like … the letter 'W'?" All three men chuckled.

"Oh, you're just seeing it upside down, my boy," the master quickly explained. "Come, look in the mirror." They turned Harm slightly. He still looked perplexed.

"It's an 'M', for master," the master said patiently. "Something to remember me by. Keep in mind if you touch it or do anything to it, I'll break your fingers."

"Oh," whispered Harm. He felt hideously scarred. The room spun, a wave of nausea came over him, and he sagged, near collapse.

"Put him on the cot." Harm was deposited on the bare mattress, where he lay down on his right side, his left hip throbbing fiercely. He was silent now, too exhausted to even cry. All three men picked up their equipment and left, flipping off the light and locking the door behind them. Harm was left to recover in the absolute darkness, in utter defeat.

Hours passed, and Harm managed to doze intermittently. Most of the time, however, his pain drove him to distraction, as well as a deep despair. He could not numb himself to the fact that he had abandoned all hope, believing with certainty that he could not go on. When the master turned on the light, he found Harm curled up in a ball.

"Don't get up," said the master. Harm lifted his head though, with an expression of sheer terror etched on his face.

"No … no more," Harm blubbered, barely coherent. "I … can't … I can't … no more …"

The master sat next to Harm, sliding himself under Harm's head. He gently pulled Harm against him, head resting in his lap. Harm held tightly onto his leg, as he rubbed Harm's back. He felt Harm shudder violently.

Shhh, easy now, the worst is over, shhhh." The master consoled Harm, petting and shushing him gently.

"Can't take it … can't do this … please … no more," Harm mumbled softly, as his master continued to sooth and comfort him. At last he settled down and lay placidly in the man's lap.

The door opened. The dark haired assistant brought in a mug of warm, plain broth, and handed it to his boss.

"Sit up, please," the master said to Harm. Harm moved slowly and hissed in pain.

"This really hurts," he said, looking down at his hip.

"Drink this, and then we'll get some salve to put on that." The master put the mug in Harm's trembling hands.

"I'll go get the stuff you need," said the dark haired man. The master nodded and watched Harm closely as he sipped the thin broth. He waited to speak until Harm was all finished, letting him take his time in peace. Even then, Harm just sat there holding the empty mug. When the young man returned, he took the cup away. Harm lay back down on his master's lap, stretching his leg out so they could access and treat his wound more easily. He kept flinching, but they managed to get his skin protected and covered with the soothing, healing salve. Then the assistant left them alone.

"Better?"

"A little," Harm answered. "You win, master. I give up. I can't take anymore."

"You can't give up on me now." The master waited a few minutes for a response, but got none. Harm was staring vacantly off into space. "What is going through your mind right now, my boy?"

Harm remembered a fragment of the song he heard when he was being branded. He felt like his mind was shattering apart and he just wanted to die. "My mind is laughing at me," he said, his voice breaking.

Harm's comment troubled the master. He could feel Harm finally giving up, his spirit quite possibly, permanently broken.

"If I could grant you any wish in the world, my precious boy, what would it be?" he asked as he absent-mindedly stroked Harm's hair. Harm thought it over for a few moments. "Let me guess; you want me to set you free," his master smirked.

"I wasn't going to ask for that, master," replied Harm. "I don't even hope for that anymore."

"Oh, really?" His eyes narrowed.

"Really, master," Harm said. "You were right. My life will never be the same. The life I knew is over. I can't ever go back, can't face anybody."

"Then what do you want? Isn't there anything else you wish for?" The master was curious now.

"It doesn't matter. You won't give me what I want anyway." Harm kept his eyes downcast.

"Try me, you never know," his master pressed. "Go on, tell me. I really want to know."

"You said that you've come to care about me. Well … if you have a shred of compassion, master, put me out of my misery." Harm looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. "Release me from this hell. Please. I want ... I want you to ... kill me."

"I see." The older man sat stiffly for several minutes in silence, no longer petting Harm's head, as he absorbed the disturbing shock of Harm's request. Harm kept very still, waiting for the reaction, wondering how badly he had sealed his fate.

"So, you would rather be dead than to be with me or set free," the master said finally. It was a statement that needed no confirmation from Harm, so he said nothing. "Get away from me." The man suddenly pushed at Harm, and Harm jumped, scrambling to the opposite end of the cot. "My kindness and generosity of the past two days apparently meant nothing to you either."

"No, you're wrong. I didn't say that," Harm protested, shaking his head.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. It won't be much longer until we're done here. I know that now." The master shrugged. "Just know this: When I'm through with you, you'll really know the meaning of wishing you were dead. Then, not only am I going to cut you loose, I'll send you back to JAG so broken everyone will know what you've become, everything you've done."

"No!" Harm wailed. "Please, not that."

"Oh, yes. In fact, I'm sure your Admiral Chegwidden has already filed charges against you for desertion and homosexuality." The master grinned maliciously. "Yeah, I'll bet those photos I sent him of you sucking cock and taking it up the ass must have blown him away."

"No … no, you're lying! You're just messing with my head again."

"Am I? I assure you the Admiral knows all about your sordid, secret double life." He laughed. "I would've loved to have seen his face when he looked at such disturbing images of his tarnished senior attorney. But, hey, it's all right; you don't have to believe me. You'll find out soon enough." He stood up, glaring coldly at Harm, then turned away.

Harm was distraught. He clenched his fists, wanting to kill the man. Just as he was about to get to his feet, the door opened and both of the master's henchmen stepped into the room.

"Is there a problem, boss?" asked the fair-haired man.

"No, everything's under control." He turned back to Harm. "There's one more thing for you to think about. You'll never know how much I cared about you. You will always wonder if I cared for you at all, or if it was all just a giant mind game."

"I don't have to waste my time wondering." Harm's voice shook, as he seethed with rage. He had been pushed too far over the edge to be concerned with the consequences. "I already know the answer. You are a lying, manipulative, heartless, fucking bastard. I don't care whether I live or die, but I will always hate you."

The master gave a small shrug and strode to the door. "Hoist him up for the night and then call it a day. I need to rest up so I can punish him tomorrow for his insolence. I'll see you both in the morning."

***

The next day arrived all too soon for Harm, despite the fact that it had been a long night. He had already had a difficult morning, and had no doubt things would get much worse when the master arrived. His hip throbbed and he had received no water since before the cup of broth the previous day. Other than a quick hosing off with cold water, and a perfunctory inspection of the despicable brand on his hip, the two assistants ignored Harm, saying not a single word to him. Just before leaving the room, the dark haired man cued up a single track on the CD player to play repeatedly. Cold and shivering, Harm was then left alone to drip dry.

Harm was puzzled by the unusual sound that filled the room. 'This is different and … bizarre,' he thought as he listened to the song's introduction sequence on what he assumed were bagpipes. However, the music rapidly degenerated to particularly harsh, thumping, heavy metal music that was incredibly loud. Screaming vocals chanted over and over, and when the song ended, it would all begin again.

*...Break you down  
Mercy, I cannot allow  
Through your face, my fist will plow  
Watching as your blood pours down  
Let's do this now...*

There was no way for Harm to get away from the assault on his ears. He never heard the master enter the room, or come up behind him. Harm never saw it coming.

Smack! Harm jumped, as much from the unexpected shock, as from the sting on his buttocks.

"Ow!" Harm yelled defiantly. Why, he did not know. It wouldn't help matters any, and probably make them worse, but it made him feel better somehow.

The master smirked, but said nothing. He proceeded to methodically beat Harm's ass with a paddle, his rhythm keeping time with the music.

*...BREAK you down  
MER-cy, I can-NOT allow  
THROUGH your face, my FIST will plow  
WATCH-ing as your BLOOD pours down  
Let's DO this now...*

The chanting shouts kept repeating over and over and over, the thumping noise of guitar, bass, and drums, the stinging smack of the paddle, over and over. Harm hissed through his teeth, panting, determined not to cry out, to take it like a man. He wasn't going to give the master the satisfaction. His buttocks were on fire, the skin a flaming red, and still the beating continued. The pain went from throbbing to constant, like a burning flame, licking teasingly at Harm's control. Moans escaped from his throat involuntarily, but he decided that was all right, as long as he didn't surrender completely. He would not beg. It became a battle of wills. The master was not going to stop until Harm cracked.

Harm tried to focus on the song itself. If he could keep track of how many times it started over, he could estimate how many minutes ticked by. That did not work for very long. Harm soon got to the point that if he heard that infernal music repeat one more time, he would lose what was left of his mind. Finally he began to scream.

"Pleeeease … no more!" Harm howled, tears of pain stinging his eyes. "Please s-stop! No … no more!" Suddenly the paddling ceased. Harm lifted his head and opened his eyes. He looked to his right, catching his reflection in the huge mirror. His entire ass was turning a dark crimson from the massive bruising.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" laughed the master. "All you had to do was ask." He walked away from Harm.

A whimper caught in Harm's throat, and he shook his head. The pain was relentless, his vision blurring from the tears. He waited, shaking all over. The master returned to his side with a different object in his hand. He ran the crop's thin leather straps lightly over the skin of Harm's ass cheeks.

"Oh-god," Harm shuddered. Without further warning, the master began flogging him, striking his shoulder. Again, he kept time with the incessant music, lashing at Harm's skin, working his way down his back, leaving a wake of pink raised welts. Harm moaned as the whip got closer and closer to his already tortured ass. The master skipped over the buttocks and whipped the back of his thighs. Walking around to Harm's other side, he worked his way back up, careful to avoid the fresh brand on his hip. By this time, Harm was covered in welts. He struck harder, and the straps began to cut into the already abused skin, leaving little thin trails of blood welling up. When he finished, Harm's entire back was marked with red lines. The master was careful not to go deep, but if left untreated, it would be enough to leave scars after healing. Finally satisfied, the master moved to Harm's buttocks and flicked his wrist. The leather strips bit cruelly into the fiery, bruised flesh, instantly bringing the blood to the surface. Harm emitted a high-pitched wail; several more followed as the master lashed him again on the other cheek. Harm was beyond the capability to form words; he could do no more than squeak weakly. His body limp, his jaw slack, he drooled onto the floor.

*...Break you down  
Mercy, I cannot allow  
Through your face, my fist will plow  
Watching as your blood pours down  
Let's do this now...*

Click. The noise stopped. Harm could not even lift his head. The master walked out without a single word, turning off the light. Harm was plunged into darkness and blessed silence, as he hung limply. He could not see the damage to his body, even if he wanted to.

Hours passed. The pain kept him awake, and kept him from being able to numb his mind. He tried to dissociate, as he had done many times before earlier in his captivity, but it wasn't working now. There was too much pain, too much rage, too much despair, just too much. More hours went by. Harm's thirst raged. He couldn't remember when he last had water, and had no idea how much time had passed. Even with the lack of water, he eventually felt the need to relieve himself. He realized he couldn't even remember if there was a pail beneath him. Waiting as long as he could in the darkness, he eventually gave up hope that anyone was going to come back, and so he let go.

***

As it turned out, it was the following day before anybody came to check on him. As soon as the light flicked on, and Harm's eyes adjusted, he looked toward the mirror. He was covered with lines of dried blood from his shoulders to his thighs. He gazed vacantly at the young man who brought a cup of water over to him.

"Here. Drink this," the light haired assistant instructed, guiding the straw into Harm's open mouth. Harm gulped gratefully. "Don't tell anyone I gave you this." Harm gave a small nod. The empty cup was taken away.

"He's pretty out of it. We better collect before he gets any weaker," the sandy haired man told the dark haired man as he entered the room. "You can go first."

"Come on, boy. Time to pay up. You owe us." The dark haired assistant stood in front of Harm and took his dick out of his pants. Harm lifted his head to find a cock in his face. His eyes glazed over and he opened his mouth. The young man stepped forward to stuff his flaccid member in, and Harm began suckling. He held onto Harm's head, sliding his now stiff cock back and forth between Harm's lips. "Oh, yeah. That's good." Harm sucked and the young man pumped. "Oooo, that's right." He fucked Harm's mouth and shot his load down Harm's throat. After a few moments to recover, he pulled out and backed away. "Fuck! Not bad, not bad at all."

He gestured to the light haired man. "Your turn."

"I don't know. I think I'll pass."

"Shit. You turning down a blowjob? The boss will know, man."

"Okay, okay." He started undoing his belt and jeans. Waiting for the dark haired man to move away, he then leaned forward and whispered in Harm's ear. "Just get me off quick, and I'll try to sneak you some more water after." Harm's only response was to open his mouth.

The fair-haired man stroked his own cock, as if to help Harm out and move things along. He held onto his shaft and pushed the head into Harm's waiting mouth. Harm closed his lips around him, sucking and using his tongue. "Jesus." He groaned and thrust his hips. With one hand pumping his shaft, he rested the other hand on Harm's shoulder for balance. Harm sucked harder and before long, he pushed the young man over the edge. "Fuck … ahhhh." He pulled back, coming out of Harm's mouth with a pop, and shooting the milky white cream across Harm's face. "Damn," he gasped and stumbled away, putting himself back together.

"He's had a lot of practice, that's for sure." The dark haired man laughed.

"I'll catch up to you in a minute. Gotta clean up." The sandy haired man flopped in a chair to catch his breath. When the coast was clear, he retrieved another full cup of water for Harm to drink. Harm gulped it all down, then kept rubbing the sides of his face against his shoulders, trying to get some of the semen off his lips and cheeks.

"Thank you." Harm could only get the words out as a hoarse whisper.

"I can't do anything more for you. I gotta go. Sorry." The young assistant sounded sympathetic.

"'S-okay," Harm whispered. He understood.

Harm was left in the darkness, alone again. No one would return the remainder of that day. No one washed the cuts on his back and buttocks or even threw water on him. No one noticed that there was no bucket in place, or even the puddle that had dried on the floor.

***

It would be two whole days before Harm was attended to again. Having no sense of the amount of time passing, he merely drifted in and out of consciousness. Pain was his constant companion now.

Harm moved very little. Each twitch and muscle spasm brought back the throbbing pain. His hands and feet were numb. He hurt and ached all over. At times, he wasn't sure whether he was asleep and dreaming or awake and hallucinating. He thought he was delirious when he heard something and opened his eyes.

There was light. Harm lifted his head slowly. The master was sitting in a chair in front of him. Harm wondered how long he had been sitting there. Everything seemed so blurry and foggy. His mouth was so dry, that he thought his tongue would crack. A small guttural noise was the only sound he could make. The master spoke to him, but it sounded far away.

"So. You've been peeing like a puppy," the master said in a level tone. Harm's face was a mask of confusion as he tried to comprehend the statement. "Puppies pee on the floor. You peed on the floor. I suppose you want to be a puppy." He got up.

Harm was in a daze. He couldn't make any sense of the master's words.

"I can arrange that. You see, puppies can't help peeing on the floor. They have no control," the man explained, as he turned to the table. He turned on the CD player, then returned and fastened a ring around the base of Harm's cock.

Harm snapped out of his stupor in a panic, as the reality dawned on him. "No … please, not this, not this," he squeaked out. This could not be happening, he thought; yet realized what was indeed coming next. Harm howled as the first shock sizzled through him.

 

"Why?" Harm cried out. He could not understand his master's cruelty. All reason escaped him. He did everything the master had demanded to avoid painful punishment. He had behaved from the beginning, yet now he was being tortured. "I don't understand ... I've been -." His words were cut off as another jolt made him yelp. Harm looked down as his bladder lost all control, and he pissed helplessly onto the floor. "Oh-god, help me!" he wailed.

"God won't help you, boy." The master sent another agonizing shock through Harm's penis, causing his body to go rigid all over. He shook convulsively, mewling softly, and drooling. Harm, barely conscious, hoped that the next shock would kill him. He vaguely heard the master speaking. "You were such a good boy. You led me to believe that I had completely broken you. Then, you fucked up and turned me down. That was the wrong decision, boy. My control of your mind was not as thorough as I had believed." The master punctuated his last word with one more jolt. Harm blacked out from the intense pain, his body going limp.

When Harm came to, he was alone. It took a few moments to remember where he was, and for his vision to clear. He tried to groan, but no sound came out. His throat was raw from screaming and he was feeling seriously dehydrated. He managed to focus his eyes on his penis, the source of his worst pain. Fresh new abrasions and burn marks on top of old scars blistered the skin around the base of his punished dick. Harm's stomach rolled and he wretched weakly.

Harm spent every waking moment suffering, as endless hours crawled by. The master had left the stereo system on when he left, the entire CD programmed to repeat continuously. The music would last approximately one hour before starting back at the beginning. Harm heard every song that had been played throughout his captivity over and over. Passing out occasionally from sheer exhaustion brought the only relief. Even then, the nightmare continued. Every time he awoke, the constant pain was everywhere, unrelenting. He had lost all bladder function, and in spite of the lack of water, a few drops of urine would randomly dribble out onto the floor.

As time passed, Harm found himself reliving the entire period of his captivity, envisioning different paths, different outcomes. What if he could have done something differently? He berated himself; should have been stronger, should have fought harder. He thought about the various opportunities once he had been unbound, all the moments he was unrestrained and alone with his captor. He should have attacked him somehow, tried to kill him with his bare hands. Harm realized the reason he didn't. Fear. Fear of what would have happened if he had not succeeded, fear of more torture. The master's two goons were always lurking nearby; he never would have escaped. Fear of death. Ironic, he thought. Now he wished for it. He should have died trying. Then he wouldn't be here now, it would have all ended.

Harm tried to go back farther, to a time before this hell. Even then, his broken mind couldn't seem to remember any of the happy times, only the traumatic moments that stood out and snowballed, feeding his despair; his ramp strike, crashing in the Atlantic, all the other close calls of nearly getting killed, his run-ins with that maniac Clark Palmer, being accused of murder more than once. Then there were all the people that he lost one way or another; his father, his RIO, Diane, failed relationships with women, Annie, Jordan, Renee. The past year was particularly depressing. He had blown his chances with Mac, and lost her as his best friend in the process. That, and the abandonment he felt during his brig lock-up for Lt. Singer's murder, left him bitter and lonely. Leaving JAG and the Navy, and then getting fired from the CIA, didn't help matters either. Harm had lost faith in his Commanding Officer when the Admiral lost respect for him.

Harm wasn't able to wrap his mind around any kind of future, either. He existed moment to moment, convinced that he was not going to survive this ordeal. Also, the thought of the master turning him loose terrified him. He could not imagine how he would face anyone who knew what he had endured. Remembering the master's threats, suicide was not an option either. Harm knew if he did anything to get himself killed, the master would take his revenge on those people closest to him.

By the end of the day, Harm gave in to the pain, both mental and physical. Not only did his broken mind completely shut down, his abused, battered body was not far behind in its final surrender.

***

The following day was Wednesday, New Year's Eve. Admiral Chegwidden sat at his desk that morning, contemplating the past year, as it was coming to a close. As years went, this one certainly had its ups and downs. His personal life was going well; he was grateful for Meredith, and even the wedding plans made him smirk in amusement. However, JAG Headquarters had definitely seen better years and more than its share of strife. From the Lt. Singer murder investigation last spring, up through the entire Paraguay debacle and beyond, the fallout had reached far and wide, affecting everyone.

The Admiral's thoughts turned quickly to Commander Rabb, as they did so often these days. There had never been a ransom demand, no clues, no trail, just a giant dead end. Rabb's disappearance was a frustrating, unsolved mystery. Chegwidden had done all he could do, yet never felt it was nearly enough. Fortunately, through careful legal maneuvering and some sheer stubbornness, he was able to avoid filing Articles 85 or 86 charges against Rabb, convincing the SECNAV that neither desertion nor absence without leave applied to the Commander. There was no evidence to show that Rabb's absence from his place of duty was through his own fault or that there was any intent to remain there from permanently. In fact, the Admiral was able to have the Commander declared officially 'missing' which, according to the Department of Defense definition, is 'a Military Services member who is not present at his or her duty station due to apparent involuntary reasons and whose location is unknown'. Even without concrete proof that Rabb was abducted, the SECNAV gave the Admiral the benefit of doubt. If Rabb should still be missing for more than twelve months, the SECNAV would be required to review the case, and decide then to either extend the missing status, or officially declare Rabb dead.

In the meantime, Rabb's pay and benefits would continue. Mac had a key to his apartment, and had already been checking his mail and taking care of the most urgent bills. With her Power of Attorney and Trish's permission, she would continue to do so. Because of the mysterious circumstances, whenever Mac went over to check on Rabb's loft, she took the precaution of bringing back up with her, usually Webb or Lt. Roberts.

Commander Rabb's billet had been filled, as well. His replacement, a Lt. Commander Shawn Barnes, was scheduled to report on Friday, January 2nd. Barnes would make a good addition to the JAG staff. He was a stable family man, with a wife and three children, and he had an impeccable service record. Chegwidden hoped that the man would prove to be a good influence and an asset to the office. Regardless of the circumstances, life must go on. It was important to move forward, yet everyone continued to hope for the best.

Admiral Chegwidden was also worried about Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie. He had counseled her two days ago. The stress had been taking its toll on Mac; her highly disciplined military bearing occasionally slipping, as her exhaustion was making her moody, distracted, and irritable. When the Admiral learned that Mac's nightmares had escalated the day after Christmas, and that she was hardly sleeping at all, he felt he had no choice but to have her seek professional help. At first, Mac had resisted, and he ended up having to order her to make an appointment at Bethesda to see a therapist. He also insisted that she take a few days off, that he didn't want to see her at JAG until the following Monday.

With a sigh, the Admiral leaned back in his chair, preoccupied. Worrying about his senior officers had apparently become a full-time job, and he was weary. Headquarters was fairly quiet, considering it was the day before a holiday. He decided to surprise the staff and secure the offices a bit early this afternoon. He was looking forward to spending some quality time with Meredith this evening, and then maybe watching some football games on New Year's Day. Before doing anything else, A.J. sent up a quick prayer to watch over one Harmon Rabb, Jr.

***

Of course, Harm had no way of knowing what day it was. This day was just like any other, simply another agonizing ordeal to get through. The light haired assistant came in the morning to attend to Harm's wounds and gave him a drink of much needed water. Harm was too out of it to be more than vaguely aware of anything, and thought he was hallucinating. The young man had turned off the endless music, and the room was finally quiet. No one else made an appearance to Harm's knowledge, and though the assistant checked in on him twice more throughout the day, Harm was unable to distinguish one visit from another.

It was well after midnight, when the door burst open and all three men noisily entered the room, talking and laughing loudly. They had clearly been celebrating the evening's festivities elsewhere, and they had all had quite a bit to drink. Harm came to, and in a daze, wondered what was going on. The master leaned close to Harm's face and Harm could smell the booze on his breath.

"We're here to have some fun, and you're the party favor," he sneered, sounding drunk as well. "Let's rock."

The dark haired young man cued up a track on the audio equipment, and took a swig from the bottle of bourbon he had brought with him. The music started out soft and mysterious, with a bass guitar. Then drums and a strange bell sound joined in, followed by a male vocal.

The master unzipped his pants, taking position behind Harm's ass. Other than quickly lubricating his cock, he did nothing else to prepare Harm. Nor was he gentle. Harm felt the head of the massive, hard member pushing at his entrance. With one firm thrust, the master shoved his manhood past the tight ring of Harm's anus and opened Harm up. Harm groaned and gave in, unable to fight the intrusion, as the master's cock filled his passage. Wanting it hard and fast, he gripped Harm's hips, pumping roughly in and out of Harm's ass. Harm clenched his teeth, too weak to do much else. The master reached his climax quickly. With a final hard thrust, he released his load deep inside Harm's body. Once his cock stopped pulsing, he pulled out and slapped Harm on the ass.

"You're still so good and tight," he laughed. He motioned to the fair-haired young man. "You're next." His tone made it clear that it was not optional. The song had swelled to its full volume and intensity.

*... I can't replace…your screaming face,  
Feeling the sickness inside...  
Why won't you die?  
Your blood in mine  
We'll be fine  
Then your body will be mine...*

The young man took a gulp from the bottle, then took his place at Harm's ass. He got his cock out, stroking the lube on it to get it hard. He was not all that eager to do this, but felt he had to play along. Cautiously, he entered Harm's backside, relieved that Harm had already been loosened up by the master's assault. He rode Harm firmly, grunting with each stroke, wanting to get the job done swiftly. Though Harm was still tight, the copious amounts of lubricant and the master's semen made his cock slide smoothly, and he sped up his rhythm. Harm let his body go completely limp, so it wouldn't hurt as much, but his ass was already extremely sore. A few more strokes and the light haired man went over the edge, coming hard with a groan and filling Harm's ass. Releasing Harm, he staggered backwards and collapsed heavily onto a nearby chair to recover.

*… Why is everything so fucking hard for me?  
Keep me down to what you think I should be!  
Must you tempt me and provoke the ministry?  
Keep on trying, I’m not done so easily

I will not die…  
Why is everything so fucking hard for me?  
I will not die…  
Why is everything so fucking hard for me?  
I will not die…

Why won't you die?  
Your blood in mine  
We'll be fine  
Then your body will be mine  
Why won't you die?…*

The master watched the entire proceeding. He stood at Harm's head, pulling it up by the chin. "Nothing like a gang bang to get you thoroughly reamed out," he chuckled and walked away to get a better view, stopping to grab a couple of hits off the bourbon that was sitting on the table.

"My turn," said the dark haired man. He leaned down to Harm's ear and spoke with a chilling, low voice that made Harm shudder. "I'm gonna fuck your ass dry. You thought you were raped before? Now you'll know the difference, you worthless shit."

The assistant's cock was already out and rigid. He rubbed it across Harm's lips. "If you know what's good for you, you better get my cock nice and wet, 'cause spit is all you get." Harm's mouth was so dry, he didn't think he could produce any spit. He automatically opened his mouth and feebly licked the throbbing dick up and down with his tongue.

"Oh, fuck, yeah." The young man couldn't resist shoving his cock into Harm's mouth and Harm's lips closed around it, sucking and taking it in. The dark-haired man was not going to be able to hold out for very long at this rate. "That's enough!" he shouted, pulling himself free from Harm's mouth. With his stiff dick in hand, he hurried around to stand behind Harm, and dropped his pants down.

"Shit, I gotta fuck this hole now." Without warning, he positioned his heavy cock at Harm's puckered opening and rammed it home. Harm yowled in pain, feeling something tear inside, as he was viciously, brutally raped. The young man was relentless, plunging his cock as deep as he could, until his balls were slapping against Harm with every pounding thrust. Harm thought his body was surely being split apart, and he realized he was screaming. This had to be it, he thought, as a semi-conscious haze overtook him. They were going to fuck him to death. He waited for it to be over. Thankfully, the end of the attack came soon. The assistant moaned his sudden release, as he shot his load into the abused passage. Harm was so filled with seminal fluids, that some began to leak out. Even after the young man's cock withdrew, Harm felt a sharp, stabbing pain that emanated from deep within his body. All he could do now was tremble and keen softly.

The dark haired assistant noticed Harm's blood on his dick, so he went immediately over to the sink to wash it off and clean up. The master was too busy with Harm to pay any attention. He was holding Harm's head up and forcing the bottle of bourbon between Harm's lips. Tipping the bottle up, he poured the liquid into Harm's mouth faster than Harm could swallow. Harm coughed and sputtered, trying not to choke.

"Drink up, boy," he laughed. "Might numb ya up a little." After a few more attempts, the master gave up on getting any more alcohol down Harm's throat.

"I gotta go crash," said the older man. "You two be sure to take care of him in the morning, hangover or not." With his bottle in hand, the master left, satisfied. The other two men, also satiated, followed him out of the room, leaving on both the light and the music.

*… I will not die …

Why won't you die?  
Your blood in mine  
We'll be fine  
Then your body will be mine  
Why won't you die?…*

The degree of physical and emotional pain that Harm endured had reached an unbearable level. How much more could he withstand? The words kept floating through his mind as he prayed for release.

*… I will not die …Why won't you die?…*

Harm bitterly cursed his unanswered prayers. He began to believe that there was no higher power; otherwise he surely would not be allowed to suffer so greatly.

'Please let me die … please let me die … please let me die.' Harm continued the chant in his head.

Gradually, Harm became aware of a new sensation, as he was suspended helplessly on the harness, face down. It took a while to notice it; he had so much pain and discomfort everywhere else, driving him to distraction. He felt a thick wetness, oozing very slowly out of his anus. The moisture tickled his skin as it crept across his perineum, then trailed over his balls, as they hung down freely from his body. Finally, as the trail made its way down to the tip of his cock, clinging to his skin, he opened his eyes. Harm watched with morbid fascination, as a crimson colored drop fell from the end of his dick to the floor below. Drip … It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. Waiting … Watching a new droplet gather … Drip … Watching it hit with a tiny splash, making the red dot on the floor a tiny bit larger. Waiting … Drip… Waiting … Drip.

Harm focused on that pattern for what seemed like an eternity. It never got any faster, but neither did it let up or stop. Drip … drip … drip.

*…Why won't you die?…*

Harm was barely conscious, feeling profoundly weak. 'Please let me die.' A new thought passed through him, and suddenly he began to laugh. There was barely any sound, as he had neither the voice nor the strength, but it was laughter nonetheless. Harm was convinced he was bleeding to death, and he found solace in that belief. He would win after all, and the master would lose. 'Ha! I win, you son-of-a-bitch!' he thought, supremely satisfied. 'I *will* die.' Harm was no longer afraid. It would all be over soon. Of all the times he had envisioned going out in a blaze of glory, of all the ways his life could have ended, he had certainly never imagined anything like this. He felt his awareness slipping away, a dark void threatening to overtake him.

'I'm sorry, Mac,' Harm thought with regret for the missed opportunities of what might have been. Holding on to one final thought, he stopped fighting the blackness and let go. 'I love you, Mom.' Finally, Harm succumbed to the black nothingness.

 

END OF CHAPTER 2

TBC IN CHAPTER 3 – HARM'S RELEASE

**************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CREDITS:  
> The songs below were used as a soundtrack for Chapter 2,  
> listed in the order in which the lyric excerpts appear.
> 
> Break You – Drowning Pool  
> Awake – Godsmack ^  
> Awaken – Disturbed +  
> Breathe – Disturbed +  
> Slept So Long – Jay Gordon *  
> Down With The Sickness – Disturbed  
> Deep Inside – Korn #  
> Not Meant For Me – Wayne Static *  
> Sick of Life – Godsmack ^  
> Alive – Korn #  
> Did My Time – Korn #  
> Let's Do This Now – Korn #  
> System – Chester Bennington *
> 
>  
> 
> * Written by Jonathan Davis and Richard Gibbs for Queen of the Damned Soundtrack  
> # From the CD Take A Look in the Mirror  
> \+ From the CD Believe  
> ^ From the CD Awake


	4. Harm's Release (Ch.3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harm's Release is technically chapter 3 (not 4.) The title is self-explanatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: FRAO (for adult content and dark themes: graphic language and violence, extreme angst, references to slash rape, etc.)  
> WARNINGS: Chapter 3 may still contain high squirk factor for some, due to references to rape, torture, etc. via flashbacks and frank medical discussion. (But not as graphic as Chapter 2.)

*******************************

CHAPTER 3 - HARM'S RELEASE

 

It was way too early in the morning on New Year's Day to be disturbed. The persistent knocking at the older man's bedroom door roused him out of his alcohol-induced slumber. He grumbled and swore under his breath, as he rolled over to face the door, looking at the clock to see what time it was.

"Enter!" The door opened, and his fair-haired assistant slipped tentatively into the room. "What the hell are you doing here and up so early?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Chief, but we have a … uh … situation."

"What is it?" the man asked, sitting up in his bed, suddenly alert with concern.

"Well, I crashed on your couch 'cause I drank too much to drive home, and I just woke up early, 'cause I had this weird feeling, so I thought I'd go check on … you know." The young man's words tumbled out, and he finally paused to take a breath. "He's out cold and I can't wake him up, and … and things must have gotten out of control last night. He's bleeding, and it won't stop. I tried to stop it, but I can't," he explained anxiously.

"I see." There was a long moment of silence, while the man, known to Harm only as 'The Master', instantly formulated his plan. He knew this day would come soon; he just hadn't expected it to arrive with such urgency. Letting Harm die was not an option. That would ruin everything he had worked for.

All three of them were drunk and wild last night, but he blamed only himself. It was his responsibility if Harm had been seriously damaged due to their rough behavior.

"It's over then. He's finished," the man sighed, running his hand over his face in his frustration. "We need to get him to a hospital a.s.a.p." He also asked where his other employee was.

"He's here too, still passed out in your spare room. What do you need us to do?" asked the young man.

"Get him up, and then the two of you prepare the Commander for transport. Bring the van around. Do it quickly. I'll be downstairs in two minutes to give you further instructions."

A few minutes later, the three men were gathered in the basement. They had taken Harm down, removed the shackles, and wrapped him in an old blanket. The two younger men gave their boss their full attention, as he gave them their orders.

"I want the two of you to take him to the Bethesda Medical Center. They'll take good care of him there. It's not far and the traffic should be light this morning. Unfortunately, we just don't have the option of waiting until dark. Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah, I know how to get there," answered the light haired man.

"Good, you drive. Pull up as close as you can to the Main Gate without being trapped. Dump his body where someone in the guard shack can see him, and then get the hell out of there fast. Don't get caught. I'm figuring people will be too busy tending to the Commander to notice any other details. Once you're sure no one is following you, come back here. We've got to completely clean up this place; then your services will no longer be needed. At that point, I'll give you both your final pay, which I think you'll find generous, and I would suggest that you disappear."

He looked over at the bloodstain on the floor between the four poles, and then walked over to where Harm was lying, squatting down beside him. The man took one last look at his soon to be freed captive. Harm looked so very pale and still, but at least he was breathing. Taking Harm's dog tags out of his pocket, he slipped the chain over Harm's head.

"Just making sure they know that you're military, my boy." He placed his hand on Harm's cheek. Harm's skin felt cold, clammy. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. Damn, sure wish things had turned out differently." He stood abruptly. "Let's get him out of here. Now."

All hell broke loose outside of the main gate to the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland that morning. The van slowed down, but never came to a complete stop, as the side door slid open. The dark haired man yanked on the blanket, unfurling it, rolling Harm's limp body out of the door and onto the middle of the road. The blanket had caught on the door somehow, and the van sped away with it, disappearing from sight down the road. Harm had landed in a heap, ending up on his side on the cold, hard pavement.

Cars screeched to a halt, voices shouting, people running, all reactions to the shock of seeing a naked, bleeding, unconscious man, wearing nothing but a set of dog tags, lying in the middle of the street. The gate guard called for help, and someone appeared with a coat and covered Harm with it. Assistance came swiftly, and Harm was ushered into the Emergency Room on a gurney, where more medical personnel came running to attend to him.

***

Admiral Chegwidden was spending the afternoon at his home in McLean, relaxing with Meredith, when the telephone rang.

"Chegwidden," he said into the phone.

Meredith watched A.J., as he listened intently to whoever was on the other end of the line, noticing that he tensed up instantly.

"Good-god. He's alive?" He looked over at Meredith, shock registering on his face. "Okay, I'll be right there." He hung up the phone.

"What is it, A.J.?"

"That was Robert Manning, the NCIS investigator. Commander Rabb has turned up at the Medical Center, alive. That's all I know," he explained, as he grabbed his coat. "I'm going to Bethesda; I don't know when I'll be back. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, A.J. I understand," Meredith assured him. "Go. Please call me as soon as you can." They decided that she might as well go home to wait for further word, as he had no idea how long he'd be gone. Then, he gave her a quick, but passionate, kiss goodbye.

A short while later, Chegwidden was met inside the hospital's main entrance area by Agent Manning.

"Hello, Admiral."

"Agent Manning," Chegwidden nodded. "Thanks for calling me. How's Rabb? What's going on?"

"Follow me. The doctor in charge of Rabb's case wants to talk to you. I'll fill you in on the way with what I know so far." They had turned toward a set of elevators, when Clayton Webb approached them.

"What are you doing here, Webb?" asked Chegwidden with surprise.

"I was the second contact on Agent Manning's list," Webb explained. "Lucky I even got the call; I just got back into town a couple of hours ago." He looked at Manning. "Where's Rabb?"

"I'm told he's in serious condition, but stable," Manning replied. "I've already spoken to Dr. Carrington."

"How did Rabb end up here?" asked the Admiral. They followed Manning into the elevator.

"I was just getting to that," Manning said patiently. "He was ejected from a moving vehicle onto the middle of the road outside of the Main Gate. Fortunately, they were able to I.D. him immediately from the dog tags he was wearing. Apparently, that was *all* he was wearing."

"Jesus," Webb interjected, visibly shocked.

"How is it that you knew about the Commander being here before I did?" Chegwidden interrupted, as they walked down a corridor.

"Like I said, they knew he was active duty Navy. Upon the doctor's examination, it was determined that a crime had been committed, so the first call he made was to report it to NCIS. After all, it is our jurisdiction. As soon as we learned it was about Commander Rabb, I was called in, since it's been my case from the beginning. I then called you two."

"Go on." Chegwidden remained stoic, as they turned into another corridor.

"Anyway, he's in pretty bad shape, and hasn't regained consciousness. Considering his condition, I'm inclined to agree with what you suspected all along, that he was indeed abducted," said Manning, stopping in front of a closed door. "This is Dr. Carrington's office. He said he'd meet you here, as soon as they were finished with Mr. Rabb."

"What aren't you telling us?" Chegwidden asked, getting impatient for answers to the many questions he had.

"Look, the doctor will have to fill you in on all the medical stuff. I can't even complete my report until I can interview Rabb, whenever he finally wakes up. We all want to know what happened to him, and to find whoever did this to him."

"I am putting you on notice right now, Mr. Manning. You will not, at any time, question the Commander unless I am present. I say that not only as his Commanding Officer, but also as his attorney. Are we clear on that?" The Admiral stood toe to toe with the agent, giving him his best intimidating glare.

"Yes, Admiral," replied Manning. His cell phone vibrated. "Please, excuse me. I have to go outside and make a call." He walked down the hall and around the corner, leaving Chegwidden and Webb to pace the hallway while they waited.

Every minute that passed seemed to crawl by. Finally, a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a white lab coat and carrying a medical file folder, was walking down the hallway towards them. He introduced himself.

"I'm Doctor Mark Carrington. Harmon Rabb is my patient."

"I'm Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, the Judge Advocate General, and Commander Rabb's Commanding Officer. This is Clayton Webb, and he's with the State Department." The doctor shook their hands, after which the Admiral got right to the point. "How is the Commander and when can we see him?"

"We don't expect him to wake up for a while yet, Admiral, so we have time to talk." The doctor unlocked the door, and entered his office. "Please come in and have a seat." He sat behind his desk and opened the file folder, while Chegwidden and Webb took the two chairs in front of him. "I have to ask a couple of questions first. Does Mr. Rabb have any family we can notify?"

"I've been keeping in contact with his mother in California since his disappearance, and I plan on calling her as soon as I have more information on his condition," Chegwidden said in an even tone. "Now I need to know exactly what is going on with my senior attorney."

Dr. Carrington looked pointedly at Webb. "And what is your relationship to Mr. Rabb?"

"He's a good friend and has been investigating Rabb's abduction from the start," Chegwidden replied before Webb had a chance to speak. "Look, we've both known Commander Rabb for over eight years, and we want to help him in any way that we can. We're probably the only two people who have any idea what really may have happened to him, other than the NCIS agent, Robert Manning. He told us you've talked to him. Now, tell us everything we need to know."

"Of course, Admiral," the doctor sighed. "Short version. Mr. Rabb was brought in this morning; unconscious and suffering from substantial blood loss. He was rushed into emergency surgery where they were able to stop the bleeding, and also given a transfusion. After recovery in post-op, we admitted him and got him settled into a room, where he is being monitored. I've run a battery of tests and thoroughly examined him. He's stable, but there's no telling when he'll come around. We've got him on painkillers and sedation. With these types of injuries, it's probably best that he sleeps through all this; it gives his body a chance to start healing. He is lucky to be alive. If whoever brought him here had waited a few more hours, he might not have pulled through." He paused to let the two men absorb the information.

"Was he tortured?" Webb asked point-blank.

"I'm not even going to ask how you'd know to ask a question like that. I'm sure I don't want to know, but my answer would have to be yes. I must say, I've never personally come across a case as disturbing as this one."

"Now, give us the detailed version," Chegwidden insisted.

"Are you sure you want to hear it all?" asked Dr. Carrington, peering at Webb, who looked slightly pale.

"We *need* to know all of it," replied the Admiral. Webb merely nodded.

"All right. I'll take it from the top then." The doctor examined the chart in front of him and took a deep breath. "As I've said, Mr. Rabb has been thoroughly examined, but I'm still waiting on some of the lab work to come back. The good news is that he has no broken bones, and there is not a mark on his face. However, he is malnourished and was severely dehydrated. We've been pumping fluids and nutrients into him intravenously, as well as broad spectrum antibiotics to ward off any infection, and his blood has been replenished." Carrington paused to flip a page, continuing without interruption.

"There are numerous abrasions and contusions throughout the body, the knees being particularly battered. He may have residual problems with them. Multiple lacerations are concentrated on the back area, ranging from the shoulders to the thighs. They probably occurred within the past week, and were left to heal on their own. There is going to be some scarring from this, and I found existing scar tissue from earlier injuries. The scarring is most extensive around the wrists and ankles, due to repeated and/or prolonged abrading of the skin and tissue from some type of restraints. How long had the Commander been missing?"

"Approximately seven weeks," replied Chegwidden. "We believe that he was held captive by someone for that entire time."

"I think it would be safe to assume that, Admiral. Any idea who might have done this?"

"No, but we intend to find out." The Admiral clenched his jaw, barely containing his temper. He glanced over at Webb, who hadn't said a word. Webb looked grim.

"Like I said earlier, there are some disturbing aspects to this case, and I am required to report any criminal assaults to the proper authorities for investigation. I hope you find the person or persons responsible for what was done to this man." The doctor was looking directly at the Admiral.

"Please, continue," Chegwidden acknowledged, knowing there was more to be heard, and that it wasn't good.

"All right," Carrington sighed, looking back down at his paperwork. "For one thing, I found it remarkable that he was fairly clean-shaven upon his arrival; then I noticed a complete absence of body hair, most likely chemically removed. There was also a symbol burned into his flesh. It's deep enough that, even with major skin grafts and cosmetic surgery, it would be difficult to remove."

"He's been *branded*?" Chegwidden bellowed.

"Apparently so," answered the doctor. "Maybe a week ago, on his hip, left side, looks like a letter 'M'. It's mostly healed already, but it's a permanent mark."

"Good grief," murmured Webb, shaking his head.

"As you know, emergency surgery had to be performed to stop internal bleeding. Fortunately, the surgeon was able to successfully repair the damage."

"What type of damage, specifically?" Chegwidden asked, leaning forward.

"The type due to violent sexual assault, Admiral. Commander Rabb was a victim of rape. Along with the tearing in the rectum, the surgeon also found other physical evidence consistent with penetration, including traces of semen, and inflammation of anal tissue, as well as scar tissue from previous violations. Samples have been sent to the lab, and all resulting evidence will be turned over to NCIS." Dr. Carrington paused for a moment.

The Admiral leaned heavily against the back of his chair and rubbed his forehead. Webb shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I'm afraid there's more," Carrington stated.

"It gets worse?" Chegwidden asked, incredulous.

Well, the prognosis for complete recovery from the surgery is excellent. I fully expect Mr. Rabb to regain normal bowel function. However, in regards to his other bodily functions, it's too soon to tell. We've had to catheterize him. This leads me to the injuries that give us the most concern. The urologist assigned to his case will be able to run more extensive tests once the Commander is conscious and has had a chance to heal a bit. Preliminary examination found significant scarring and abraded skin around his penis. The burns give us reason to suspect that he had been subjected to electrical shocks."

"Christ!" exclaimed the Admiral.

"Oh-god," Webb said, visibly shaken, as a vivid memory of Paraguay washed over him. Chegwidden looked at over at him, noticing his white-knuckled grip on the arm of the chair.

"You all right, Webb?" the Admiral asked. "Maybe you should step out for a moment."

"No, I’m okay," Webb waved him off. "Don't let me interrupt."

"I'm almost finished here," the doctor stated. "I was about to say that, in addition to the tissue damage, there may be nerve damage involved. It's just too soon to know the extent, or whether it will be temporary or permanent. I am guardedly optimistic that he will regain urinary control, and make a complete recovery in due time."

"But what is the worst case scenario, Doctor?" asked Chegwidden.

"Well, Mr. Rabb could be rendered sterile or impotent, possibly both. I am most concerned with the psychological impact of this, especially when added to the other traumas he has suffered. I am more confident of his physical recovery than I am about his state of mind," Dr. Carrington explained. "I prefer not to speculate too much, however. Let's take everything one day at a time." There was a knock at his door, which he acknowledged.

"I have those lab test results you wanted, Doctor," announced the nurse, handing him a folder, before retreating from the office.

"Thank you." Carrington looked over the reports and seemed relieved. "Oh, good. Some positive news on Rabb. Blood work looks good, numbers are in the normal or near normal ranges, his hydration level is looking better, and the initial tests for various diseases are all negative, so far." He paused, sighing, and then looked up at Chegwidden and Webb. "I also have a preliminary finding on the rape kit samples that went to NCIS. The traces of semen belong to three different individuals, no signs of HIV, and all future DNA testing for identification purposes is to be done by NCIS. I think that covers everything for now. If you'll excuse me, I do need to go check on my patient." He closed the file folders and stood up.

"I need to see him," Chegwidden insisted.

"Of course," Carrington agreed. "I'll send a nurse to come get you as soon as I've finished examining him. It should be just a few minutes. You're welcome to wait here."

"Thank you, Dr. Carrington." The Admiral stood as well. "Mr. Webb, Agent Manning, and I are investigating the criminal aspects of this case, and have a need to know basis. However, I want to be sure no one else is told the details of Commander Rabb's condition, especially the extent of torture he suffered, not even his mother."

"I assure you, Admiral, we will do the utmost to protect Mr. Rabb's privacy."

Once they were left alone, Chegwidden sat back down, as the office was too small to pace anyway. He looked at Webb and shook his head. Webb was staring off into space.

"Webb, are you sure you're okay? You've been awfully quiet."

"Yeah, well, a little too déjà vu for me. It was like I was back there with Sadik Fahd all over again." Webb rubbed at his temple. "But I can't even imagine all that Rabb endured."

"You can relate better than I or anyone else could, Webb. Hell, you almost bought the farm on that mission."

"True. I got the shit beat out of me for a couple of days, and was subjected to incredible pain until I was nearly dead, and I'm still a mess sometimes because of it. But, my-god, seven weeks and … and what they did to him, it … it boggles the mind. Damn those sick bastards. How can anybody go through such horror and emerge unscathed?"

"I've been thinking about the same thing," said Chegwidden. "It sickens me to know that Rabb was … violated in that way. Who knows what will happen when he wakes up? I'm afraid for him, afraid that he'll be emotionally scarred for life. All we can do is to be there for him, to show him he's not alone, and get him whatever help and support he needs."

"I hope he'll be strong enough to deal with it." Webb got up from the chair. His hands were shaking slightly, and he stuffed them in his pants pockets.

"The fact that he has survived thus far should tell you something, Webb." The Admiral watched as Webb looked down at the floor contemplatively.

"There is so much evil in the world," Webb said, quietly.

"And we don't even have to leave this country to find it," added Chegwidden.

A few minutes later, a nurse brought them to Commander Rabb's room, where Dr. Carrington had just finished his examination. He met them outside the door.

"We're going to ease up on the sedatives just a little bit. The pain medication will keep him from too much discomfort. I do expect him to sleep through the night, however. He'll come around when he's good and ready to, but he could be very disoriented when he wakes up. We'll be checking on him regularly," the doctor informed them. He glanced at Webb, and then looked back at Chegwidden. "You can go in and see him for just a minute."

"I don't think so," said the Admiral, in his most authoritative voice. "While I'm sure this facility's security is excellent, we're not taking any chances. First of all, one of us will remain in Rabb's room, around the clock, keeping watch for his safety, and secondly, I will *not* have him wake up alone or with strangers. Someone he knows will be here with him at all times."

"All right, Admiral," Carrington conceded without hesitation. The man may be wearing civilian clothes, but he was nevertheless an admiral, and he certainly did not wish to piss him off. "But, please keep us informed as to who is on this *short* list, and try to keep it to one person at a time."

"Of course. For now, Mr. Webb and myself will be alternating shifts. I'll have the Commander's mother flown from California as soon as possible, and a Marine Lieutenant Colonel will probably be added, as well."

"If you have any questions, you know where to reach me, and I'll keep you informed of any changes." Carrington extended his hand.

"Thank you, doctor," Chegwidden shook his hand, after which the doctor also shook Webb's hand, nodding. Carrington then headed down the hallway.

The Admiral braced himself to enter Rabb's room. Webb took a deep breath, and followed him.

The room was not very brightly lit, as it would be dark soon. Natural light from the late afternoon sky filtered in through the mini-blinds, which were adjusted so as not to shine directly into anyone's eyes. The two men found themselves at the foot of a hospital bed.

Commander Rabb's six feet, four-inch frame was sprawled face down, and yet somehow he managed to look small and helpless. Because of the nature of his surgery, and the myriad of healing cuts crossing his back and buttocks, he had been carefully positioned between lying on his right side and his stomach. The nurses had strategically tucked pillows and foam wedges around him, so that he would not inadvertently roll over onto his back. His left leg was bent, with the knee drawn up, and his lower body was loosely covered with a sheet that came up to his waist.

A hospital gown had been put on him, but fastened only at the back of the neck, leaving his back exposed. Chegwidden and Webb's attentions were immediately drawn to the numerous thin, red lines covering his skin. Most of the lacerations had scabbed over by this point, and the nurses had gently bathed him, cleaned all the various wounds, and covered them with either ointments or dressings.

Harm's head was turned to the left, his shaggy, unkempt hair falling onto his forehead, and beginning to grow out over his ears and neck. The right side of his face was nestled against a pillow. His left arm was carefully stretched out in front of him, lying across another pillow, with the I.V. tubing snaking over to the bag of fluids hanging nearby.

The Admiral took note of the white gauze wrapped around Harm's wrists, and of the fact that his arms were completely hairless. He moved around to the side of the bed to get a closer look at Harm's face. He was pale, with a gaunt, haggard look, and the skin around his closed eyes was gray and puffy. His parched lips were slightly parted, as he breathed deeply and evenly in repose, temporarily oblivious to the horrific pain and suffering to which he had been subjected.

Webb remained standing at the foot of the bed, as he watched the former SEAL reach out with his hand and brush Harm's hair back from his forehead. Profoundly moved by the tender gesture, Webb likened it to that of a father with a sick child.

"He's definitely lost weight, quite a bit, I'd say," Chegwidden stated quietly.

Webb was still staring at Harm's back. "We've got to find the bastards and make them pay," he seethed, his voice low. "I still can't believe they branded him."

Chegwidden looked over at Webb. "You can turn away if you want to, but I have to see for myself how bad it is." He gingerly lifted the sheet up, and pulled it back just enough to find the dark, two-inch mark burned into the flesh of Harm's hip.

Webb hissed, cringing as he saw what Chegwidden had uncovered. "Shit, it really does look like the letter 'M'. I wonder what the hell it's supposed to stand for."

"Damn, damn, damn." The Admiral was outraged. They couldn't help but also notice the damage to Harm's backside. The cuts, welts and scarring of his butt cheeks were worse than those on his back, and the entire surface was covered with heavy, multi-colored bruising. Quickly, the Admiral pulled the sheet up, all the way to Harm's shoulders, covering him completely. The room was not cold, but not overly warm either, so he took the light, thin blanket that was folded at Harm's feet, and pulled that up over him as well.

Webb put his hands back in his pockets again, and turned away from the bed. "So, how do you want to do this, Admiral, two hour shifts or four?"

Chegwidden contemplated that for a moment. "Let's make it four, if it's all right with you. That way, we each have time to go home, get a little rest, eat, take care of business, or whatever."

"Works for me," Webb agreed. "I'd better get a hold of Sarah, though. If she finds out that I have information on Rabb and didn't call her, she'll kick my ass." He smirked ruefully.

"And I need to try and reach Trish and Frank to give them the news. If you'll take the first shift, then I'll go and make both phone calls," the Admiral suggested.

"Fine. I know we aren't supposed to use our cell phones in the hospital, so would you explain to Sarah where I am? I haven't seen her since Christmas."

"Hmm, I had given her some time off, didn't expect to see Mac until Monday myself," said Chegwidden. "I'll do my best to reach her."

"Thanks, Admiral." With that, Chegwidden nodded and left, and Webb pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, to begin his vigil of watching over Harmon Rabb, Junior.

***

Four hours later, Admiral Chegwidden returned to relieve Clayton Webb, bringing a large thermos of coffee and a newspaper with him. While he was gone, he had spoken to Meredith to let her know where he'd be, filling her in with only the most general information on Rabb's current condition. It was well into the evening when he walked into the dimly lit room. Only a small reading lamp on the wall behind the bed provided illumination. He found Webb sprawled in a chair, leaning back with his elbow on the chair's arm, and his hand rubbing his temple, as he stared at Harm's sleeping face.

"How's it going? Any change?" asked Chegwidden.

Webb immediately came to his feet, stretching out the kinks in his tired, stiff body. "Not too much to tell. The nurse checks on him, takes his vitals regularly, and Dr. Carrington stopped in about two hours ago. Rabb twitches every once in a while, oh, and a little while ago, he opened his eyes for just a few moments."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but then he went back out. It seemed as though he looked right at me, but I couldn't tell if he even recognized who I was," Webb sighed. "I mentioned it to the nurse. That's about it."

"Hmm. Okay, I'll take over now."

"Any luck with your phone calls?"

"Yes and no. Rabb's mother is flying out here the day after tomorrow. Colonel MacKenzie is apparently incommunicado. I left messages on both her home and cell phones to call me as soon as she receives them."

"Surely, she would have left word if she was going to be out of town for a couple of days," Webb mused.

"Maybe she did, with someone other than me," Chegwidden snorted. "She wasn't too happy with our last conversation."

"Well, I'll keep trying, and I better go grab a bite to eat." Although curious, Webb decided that the Admiral's cryptic remark wasn't worth pressing. He realized the man wasn't going to be any more forthcoming, anyway.

"See you in four hours, unless you want to make it six, so you can get some rest."

Webb thought it over. "Are you sure? That would mean I'd be back around two A.M."

"I've got plenty of coffee," Chegwidden said, indicating the thermos he had set down.

"That might be good. Well, then, I'll take the next six after that. I do have to debrief at Langley in the morning, after which I should have a couple of days off."

"Sounds like a plan," stated the Admiral. "I have Rabb's replacement reporting aboard tomorrow, but I'll apprise Commander Turner of the situation. I'm sure he can hold down the fort until I can get there."

"Thanks, Admiral."

"Thank *you*, Webb, for all your help. I know you and Rabb haven't always seen eye to eye."

"Hey, it's the least I can do. Besides, I could say the same for you." Webb felt awkward with this shared moment. After a quick glance over at Harm's motionless form, he made an abrupt exit.

Chegwidden shook his head, strolling over to the window, and he peeked through the blinds at the night sky. He knew that Webb felt he owed the Commander a great deal, and the need to repay that debt. He was also painfully aware that his own relationship with Rabb had been pretty rocky over the past year. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had let the man down when he needed him most, and vowed that would not happen again. Somehow, he would make it up to him.

With a sigh, he turned away from the window. After pacing the room a few times, he finally settled into the chair that faced the recumbent Commander, and simply watched him breathe.

When the night nurse made her rounds, Chegwidden stepped outside to keep out of the way. When she finished, he resumed his place. It was shortly after her visit that he put on his reading glasses to read his newspaper. After only a few minutes of reading, he got the strangest feeling. He laid the paper on his lap and looked over his glasses at Harm's face. Harm's eyes were open, gazing back at him.

"Harm!" The Admiral was startled, and leaned forward. "Harm, can you hear me? It's A.J. I'm right here, Harm." He reached out and covered Harm's hand with his own. "Harm?"

Chegwidden saw him blink, his lips moving slightly, but there was no sound. He felt Harm's hand move under his, and then suddenly felt fingers wrapping around his thumb. Harm held onto his thumb like it was a lifeline. He heard him release a deep, shuddering sigh, and then his eyes began to flutter shut.

"Come on, Commander, stay with me a little longer," A.J. implored, pushing the call button. By the time the nurse arrived, Harm had relaxed his grip, and was out once again.

"He was awake," A.J. stated to the nurse. "He looked right at me and squeezed my thumb. That's good, isn't it?"

"It's a positive sign," the nurse said patiently, as she checked on the patient. "No significant changes yet, but he may begin to stir more frequently. Now, if he should appear to be in any distress or pain, don't hesitate to use that button." She gave the Admiral a kind smile and left.

Chegwidden settled back in his chair, but kept a steady gaze on Harm's face. Other than occasional twitches, Harm rarely moved. Eventually, the Admiral returned to his reading, alternating that with drinking coffee, and getting up to stretch and pace the room. Two hours later, the nurse returned, took vitals, checked the I.V. bag, and left again.

A.J. sat again, this time leaning forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the bed. He wondered if talking to Rabb might help, but he was at a loss as to where to begin or what to say to him. He sighed wearily.

"You know, son, I can't begin to imagine what hell you've been through for these past seven long weeks," he said softly. "There are a lot of people who care about you and have been praying for you to come back to us. I was afraid we'd never see you again, and I, for one, am very grateful that whoever took you saw fit to set you free, and that you are alive." He laid his hand over Harm's, absent-mindedly rubbing the back of his hand. "You've had some close calls over the years, and you've always bounced back. Sure gave us a fright when you went down in the Atlantic; we almost lost you that time. But, as worried as I was then, it doesn't compare to how scared I am for you now." Keeping one hand on Harm, he hung his head, resting his forehead on his other hand. It almost looked as if he was praying. He sat still like that for several minutes, letting his eyes close.

Suddenly, Chegwidden felt Harm's hand pull back out from under his. He lifted his head to find Harm staring at him, and wearing a confused frown.

"Harm?"

"Admiral?" Harm whispered hoarsely, unable to get his voice to work.

"Yeah, it's me, son. I'm here." A.J. was relieved that Rabb recognized him. "You're safe now. It's going to be okay." He touched Harm's hand again, and felt the hand jerk away. Harm's eyes were wide open and gazing intensely at him. "Are you in any pain?"

Harm seemed to think the question over. He hadn't really tried to move yet. "Not sure," he whispered. "Feel strange."

"That would be the drugs." The Admiral smiled sympathetically. "But, don't worry. You're going to be all right," he said, trying to reassure him.

"So thirsty," Harm whispered, licking at his dry lips.

"Let me get the nurse." Chegwidden had been so caught off guard that he forgot about the damn call button.

"No. Don't leave."

Even though Harm was still whispering, A.J. could hear his anxiety. "It's okay. I'm just going to push this button right here, and the nurse will come." He looked around for a water pitcher or cups, but there was none to be found.

"He's thirsty," Chegwidden stated when the nurse entered. "Can he have some water, please?"

"I'll bring a cup of ice chips, sir," she said, checking Harm briefly, and then left quickly.

Harm kept his perplexed gaze locked on the Admiral. "I saw you," he whispered. Now, it was Chegwidden's turn to look baffled, as he waited for Harm to explain further.

"Saw Webb, too."

"Ah," A.J. said softly, as understanding dawned on him. "He was here earlier."

"Oh. I thought I was dreaming it … or hallucinating." Harm tried to clear his throat. He coughed, which made his entire body tense up. He shuddered with discomfort and groaned. "Ouch, that hurt," he grimaced.

"Are you in much pain?" the Admiral said with great concern.

"Only when I move," Harm mumbled, giving A.J. a weak grin.

"Nice to see you still have a sense of humor," A.J. smirked. "I'll ask the nurse what can be done about the pain."

"It's not too bad," Harm sighed. The medications had reduced everything he felt to a dull ache, and made him feel fuzzy and lethargic. He raised his head a little and tried to look at the room around him, frowning. "Hospital."

"Yes, Harm. You're at Bethesda. Do you have any idea how you got here?"

"No … No, I can't remember anything." His brain felt foggy and confused.

"What is the last thing you do remember?" Chegwidden pressed. He waited, as Harm tried desperately to think, and he watched his expression change, as a distressing memory washed over him.

"Blood," Harm whispered hoarsely. "I was bleeding … I … I knew I was going to die … so much …pain." He became agitated, clenching his fist. "Oh-god, I'm not dead, am I? Why couldn't he let me die? He should've just let me die." He choked back a sob, and a tear made its way down the side of his nose. "Shit."

"Take it easy, Harm. You have to believe that it's going to be all right." A.J. tried his best to calm and comfort him. "Harm, I promise, I'm going to get you through this." Seeing Harm trying to move his trembling hand up to his face, he produced a handkerchief and gently wiped the left side of his face for him, drying his eye.

Just then, the nurse returned, much to A.J.'s relief. "Mr. Rabb is experiencing discomfort," he stated impatiently. "Can you do something for the pain?"

"I need you to step out, while I examine him first," she said, setting a cup with a spoon in it on the small table next to the bed.

"No! He stays," said Harm, in a voice filled with anxiety. His hand reached out to grab the Admiral's forearm.

The nurse was older than Chegwidden, and gave the impression of a no-nonsense, matronly woman. "Sir, I need to check his catheter, among other things," she said firmly, looking directly at the Admiral. At that, Harm looked almost panic stricken. He didn't want to be messed with, fussed over, examined, or even touched by anyone.

"It's okay, Harm. You're in good hands. I'll be right over on the other side of the room. I'm not leaving," he said, just as firmly, glaring at the nurse as he spoke. He stood and moved out of the way, ending up at the window. He peered out into the night, keeping his back to them to give Harm a little privacy. Harm was looking over his shoulder, trying to keep the Admiral in his line of vision.

"It's nice to see you awake, Mr. Rabb." The nurse spoke soothingly, as she went about her business, checking the I.V. and taking his vital signs. His pulse was up just a bit. She notated the results on the chart, and checked the medication status. "Ah, you are due for another dose, which should help you feel better. Would you like to change position a bit? I can help turn you more to the side."

"Um … okay." Harm was trembling slightly, as the nurse shifted pillows around, pushed back on his left shoulder, and put a second pillow under his head. She realized that he was apprehensive, which did not surprise her, knowing he had been through a terrible ordeal.

"My name is Sheila, and I've been in nursing for nearly thirty five years. So, don't you fret about nothin', Mr. Rabb." She spoke to him in an effort to distract him, while she matter-of-factly pulled the light covering down and off his legs. "Now, let's see if you can roll back on your hip just a little, and straighten out your left leg for me, slowly. If you can't, then let me do the work for you."

Harm followed her instructions and stretched out, though sluggishly. Every movement accentuated how stiff and sore all his muscles and joints felt, as well as a deep ache inside of him. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, as the nurse pulled his gown up to his hips to examine the catheter. Harm was suddenly focused on his penis, and acutely aware of how uncomfortable it felt. As soon as she determined that everything was in order, she released him and pulled the gown back down to cover him.

"There. You're all set, Mr. Rabb," the nurse assured him, prompting him to open his eyes.

"Under the circumstances, do you think you could call me Harm?" he asked nervously.

"You're a funny man, Mr. Rabb," she stated with amusement. She tucked a pillow behind his back. "You can move around some. Just don't roll completely onto your back or stomach. You may bend or stretch your legs, but do so carefully, so you don't trap or tangle up your catheter. As long as the line is kept free and clear and you don't tug on it, you'll be fine."

Sheila pulled the covers back up over Harm, as he lay on his side. He immediately drew his legs up to curl into a fetal position, mindful of the long, thin tube that stretched from his penis to somewhere off the side of the bed.

"I'll be right back with the pain meds," she announced. Chegwidden turned from the window. The entire process had taken less than five minutes, but he was relieved the efficient nurse was finished with Rabb. "He can have some ice chips now, unless you want to wait until I get back," she said to the Admiral.

"That's all right. I think we can manage that," A.J. replied. Grabbing the cup, he sat down next to Harm, and using the plastic spoon, fed small amounts of the frozen slush into Harm's mouth. Harm had crossed his right arm over his chest, with his hand resting on his left shoulder. He had wanted to tuck in his left arm also, but couldn't bend his elbow much, due to the I.V. needle set-up. Neither man said anything. A.J. seemed to know instinctively when Harm was ready for another spoonful, just by watching his face.

There would be time for talking later, if or when Harm was ready. He was quiet, and still fairly out of it, and hadn't asked many questions yet. A.J. assumed that Harm was still in shock, and that the full impact of his situation had not yet begun to sink in. Harm shivered, and tried to reach over his shoulder to clutch at the sheet that was just out of his reach.

"Are you cold, son?" A.J. asked.

"A little," sighed Harm. A.J. set the cup down, then leaned over to tuck the blanket up over Harm's shoulders.

"Thanks, Admiral." Harm looked at him somberly, and A.J. knew instantly that his word of gratitude was for so much more than a blanket or some ice. The Admiral searched the room, finding another thin blanket in the small closet. He unfolded it, and draped it over Harm's still body, completely covering him up to his neck. Then, he took his place back in the chair.

Sheila returned momentarily with a syringe, and injected the contents into the I.V. line. Looking at Chegwidden, she told him that Mr. Rabb would probably be out for the next several hours, and that he was welcome to stretch out on the other bed. The Admiral nodded and thanked her. She left, turning off the bright overhead lights, leaving only the small reading lamp over Harm's bed for illumination.

"Harm, do you want me to turn off this light?"

"No!" Harm answered emphatically. "Please, leave it on."

A.J. watched Harm finally relax, as the drugs took effect. His eyelids drooped, and he fell soundly asleep within a minute. A.J. looked at his watch. Webb would be here soon.

***

Clayton Webb walked in at 0145 hours, wearing a fresh change of clothes, and carrying his briefcase. Since he would be going from Bethesda directly to Langley, he was dressed in a suit and tie.

"Well, you look refreshed, Webb. Did you get any sleep?" Chegwidden asked, as he looked up.

"Not really. Went home, tried to unwind for a bit, but just too keyed up, I guess. I also went by Sarah's apartment. She wasn't home, and I've still had no luck reaching her on her cell phone." Webb paced the room with his hands in his pants pockets, and then looked over at Rabb, noticing his different position as he slept. "How is he doing?"

"He was awake for a little while, didn't say a whole lot," explained Chegwidden. "All I've gathered, so far, is that he has no idea how he got here, and he believed that he was going to die. He seemed genuinely surprised to be alive, as well as upset that his captor did not allow him to die."

"Jeez, it's pretty obvious that the s.o.b. wanted Rabb to stay alive. I've been thinking how damn lucky we are to get him back. If they hadn't injured him so seriously, he'd still be in their clutches." Webb shook his head in frustration. "I mean, it's not as though we were having any luck, whatsoever, locating him."

"I know, I know." Chegwidden nodded in agreement, standing up. "Regardless of how it came about, at least he's here. Rabb was doped up not too long ago, so he'll be out for a while. The night nurse is named Sheila. She said it's okay to use that empty bed, if you get tired. Now, I'm going home to hit the rack. I'll see you at zero-eight-hundred."

"Sounds good, Admiral. Good night." Webb took off his jacket, carefully hanging it in the closet. Then he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

"Oh, and Webb?" Chegwidden stopped at the door on his way out. "Whatever you do, don't turn off that lamp. Rabb seems to intensely dislike being in the dark." With that, he was gone.

Eventually, Clayton ended up nodding off in the chair. He dozed intermittently, as the hours passed. When he awoke, he had a major kink in his neck, so he got up, stretched, and went to gaze out of the window. Dawn would be approaching soon. Rabb had been quiet, dead to the world. Webb turned to watch him now, as he stirred, twitching and occasionally making mumbling sounds. He made his way back to the chair, realizing that Rabb was dreaming.

"No, no … nooooo …" Harm muttered in a raspy voice, trembling. He was in the grip of a nightmare, and Clay listened closely. "Please, master. I'll be good … don't hurt me anymore." His words were followed by a strangled sob.

Webb was alarmed, but he hesitated, not sure whether or not to try and bring him out of it. He didn't want to make it worse by scaring him. Just as he laid his hand on Rabb's arm, Harm jerked awake, his eyes flying open. They had a wild, haunted look as they adjusted to the dimly lit room, and Clay's face came into focus.

"Hey," said Webb, gently. "You okay?"

"Webb," Harm whispered, remembering where he was now.

"Very good, Rabb. You know who I am," Webb smirked. Harm just studied his face intently, not saying a word. Then, feeling Webb's hand on him, he pulled his arm away. Webb withdrew, leaning back in the chair. "Sorry."

"How long?" Harm asked. His voice was hoarse and raspy.

Webb looked at his watch. "A few hours. I got here around two."

"No. I meant, how long have I been-?"

"Almost twenty-four hours. You were brought in yesterday morning."

Harm sighed. Though that was good information to know, it wasn't what he was after. He tried a different question. "What day is it?"

"It's Friday, the second day of January, two thousand four."

"Oh." Harm frowned, trying to absorb the information, trying to do the math. "God, I've been gone so long. How long exactly?"

"You went missing approximately seven weeks ago. You were last seen leaving a bar with two men on the night you signed out of JAG at 1935. We assumed that's the night you were abducted, am I right?"

Harm nodded, slowly.

"Well, then to be exact, you had been missing for forty-eight nights." Webb ran a hand through his hair, becoming intense as he spoke. "Harm, you need to understand something. You disappeared without a trace. We tried like hell to find you, only there just weren't any clues, no ransom notes, nothing. Whoever took you covered all the bases."

Harm said nothing, but the fact that Webb used his first name did not go unnoticed. He tucked his head down, closed his eyes, and buried his face into the pillow, not wanting to meet Webb's scrutinizing gaze any longer.

Webb sighed. He felt inadequate, having been unable to help save his friend. Harm's expression was one of sadness and disbelief. Webb was positive that Harm felt abandoned and let down. "I'm so sorry, Harm."

"For what? Not your fault," Harm said, without looking up.

"For not being able to rescue you … like you did me," he said softly. "I owe you my life."

Harm snorted, remembering all the favors he had pestered out of Webb over the years. "I already owed you, how did you put it, 'into the next millennium'. Let's just call it even, okay?" Then, he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "Besides, I might be needing another favor from you."

"If it's in my power, I'll help you in any way that I can. That's a promise."

"I will hold you to that, Clay," Harm murmured, keeping his eyes averted.

"Oh, I have no doubt that you will, Rabb," Webb said with a smirk. He sat, deep in thought, while Harm remained silent. Under the circumstances he found Harm to be surprisingly lucid and calm. Too calm. Daylight was breaking and Harm dozed off again, leaving Webb with many unanswered questions.

Shortly before 0800 hours, Admiral Chegwidden strode down the hall towards Rabb's room. As he passed the nurses' station, the hospital staff stopped what they were doing and stared. In uniform, he was even more imposing than he was the previous day in his civilian attire. The man exuded authority, power and strength. He had the nurses wondering how special the handsome Commander must be to have the constant, hovering, protective attention of not only an Admiral, but also of the man in the expensive three piece suit. That man was, at this moment, pacing in front of Rabb's door.

Clayton Webb turned, and saw Chegwidden approaching.

"What the hell are you doing out here, Webb?"

"Good morning to you too, Admiral," Webb answered in just as irritated a voice as Chegwidden's. "I was asked to leave, no, make that chased out of the room, by a nurse. The doctor just went in, too. They're tending to Rabb now."

"Well, all right then. Anything new to report?"

Webb knew damn well that the Admiral was just trying to cover his concern with annoyance. "He slept a lot. He's really quiet, doesn't say much. He asked how long he'd been missing, and I told him. He also confirmed that he was taken from the bar that night." Webb paused. "Oh, and one more thing: I witnessed a disturbing nightmare already. Whomever he was pleading with, he referred to as 'master'."

"Damn," A.J. responded, shaking his head. At the moment, neither man wanted to delve any further into that topic.

"They could be a while in there," Webb said, nodding toward the door. "I might as well head out. Fill me in later. I'll be back as soon as I can get away."

"Do me one favor, Webb. Just get a message to me if you end up being delayed past 1400. I'll need to get over to Headquarters at some point today. The news about Rabb is something I need to announce in person."

"Will do, Admiral. Until then." Webb headed down the corridor, leaving Chegwidden to stand alone and wait.

The Admiral had called Commander Turner before arriving at the hospital, informing him that he would not be at JAG until sometime after noon. He instructed Turner to take charge until then, and to help the new Lieutenant Commander get acclimated when he checked in.

Finally, Dr. Carrington emerged from Harm's room.

"Good morning, Admiral."

"Good morning, Doctor. How is the Commander doing?"

"Well, physically, he's coming along. We're going to put him on a liquid diet today and see if he can keep it down. He has complained of stomach distress, and that's most likely due to a combination of extreme stress and the fact that he was being starved. We've given him meds to reduce the gastric discomfort and nausea. His state of mind is another matter. He is trying to keep a really tight lid on his emotions. I'm afraid it's like a dam that could burst at any time. I had to give him a mild sedative in order to perform my examinations. He is having a difficult time with being touched, and became quite agitated, which is completely understandable."

"May I go in and see him?" asked Chegwidden.

"Momentarily, yes. The nurse is just finishing up. Mr. Rabb has more awareness of his condition, now that I've discussed the surgery and other pertinent medical facts with him. It might be helpful if someone whom he knows and trusts can get him talking. We can manage his pain and discomfort with meds, and will continue to monitor him closely. As for the rest, he seems to already be using some coping techniques that he must have learned while in captivity."

"Such as?" the Admiral asked, alarmed.

"Well, when the reality of what happened becomes too much, or his fear threatens to overwhelm him, his mind shuts down. He might try to block it out or dissociate, which is a natural reaction to such severe trauma, but only a short-term solution. I'm referring him to one of our best psychiatrists on staff right away. Mr. Rabb will get the help he needs here."

"Thank you very much, Dr. Carrington. His mother will be arriving tomorrow, and in the meantime, I'll make sure he knows that his friends care about him and are here for him."

"Well, he did seem anxious to see you, sir. Why don't you go ahead on in and check with the nurse? She should be about done by now. I'll check back later on my rounds."

Chegwidden nodded his acknowledgement and opened the door. He peeked towards the bed, noticing that they had turned Harm. He lay on his left side now, facing the window, both arms stretched out in front of him, his back to the door. The nurse on the morning shift had apparently just finished giving him a sponge bath, and was standing behind him. They had not noticed the Admiral's presence yet, and he overheard their exchange.

"There now, all clean and fresh. Feel a little better?"

Harm nodded, grateful for the woman's gentle care. She had even brought him a small cup with mouthwash earlier for him to rinse and spit. "Thanks, Brenda, that helped, but my back still itches like crazy. Would you rub some more?" Harm asked, slightly whiny. Despite the medications, he seemed fairly alert and coherent.

"Ah, but that's a good thing, Mr. Rabb," the nurse chuckled. "That means you're healing." With a towel in hand, she rubbed it in circular motions across his entire back.

"God, that feels so good," Harm groaned. "Scratch harder."

"We will do no such thing! The remaining scabs will come off on their own. You had better leave it alone," she admonished him, as if he were a child.

"How bad does it look?" Harm asked drowsily.

"Most of your cuts have completely closed. There's not that much left." The nurse didn't mention the numerous thin scar lines that were left behind. Some were still pink and angry looking, but they would all eventually turn white. The marks on his buttocks were a bit worse, but would improve also. Over the years, she thought she had pretty much seen it all, until she had come across the frightening damage that had been done to this patient's hip and penis. It had shocked and saddened her, and her heart went out to the quiet, broken man who had been so brutally violated. She looked over and noticed the Admiral standing by the door. She stopped her massaging ministrations, frowning at him.

Chegwidden cleared his throat. "Dr. Carrington told me I could come in and check with you," he said quietly.

Harm was badly startled at the sudden realization of another presence in the room, his body quivering as it went on full alert. All of his muscles tensed in fear, he inhaled a quick, shallow breath, and his heart rate jumped. Jerking his head to look over his shoulder, he let a shaky breath expel from his lungs, only after he recognized his Commanding Officer's face.

"It's all right. I'm all done here," the nurse's perturbed expression softened. "Now remember, Mr. Rabb, sip water as often as you can, but take it slowly, a little at a time. We don't want it coming back up. Then, we'll see about lunch later."

"Yes, ma'am." Harm turned his face back to the window. The nurse slipped out of the room, leaving a large, plastic, covered cup, with one of those flexible straws sticking out through the lid, sitting on the edge of a movable table, within his reach. It was filled with ice water.

A.J. pulled up a chair to sit in front of Harm, studying him. "Hey, how's everything going?" He waited patiently for a response, observing that Harm did not look directly at him, but focused rather on gazing out of the window.

"I … I'm not sure I like being on my left side," Harm finally said.

"Why not, Commander?"

"Um … my … uh … hip is pretty sore, and … and I can't see when people come in."

"I'm sure they'll switch you back in a few hours, sooner if we ask," A.J. said reassuringly.

"On the other hand, it's kind of nice to look out of the window. I haven't had a window or seen the outdoors in so long …" Harm's voice trailed off, as he was unable to stop the painful memories from flooding his mind. Even with the drugs making him feel foggy and tired, it took all his strength to hold himself together. He convinced himself he could do this, he had to.

A.J. was worried. Harm seemed so calm and subdued, even detached. Yet, looking into those haunted eyes, he was certain there was much more going on inside the man, hidden from view of everyone other than himself.

"Admiral?" Harm called out.

"Yes, Commander."

"Am I still in the Navy?"

A.J. was taken aback by the strange question. "Of course. Why would you ask that?"

"I've been gone for seven weeks, sir. You had no way of expecting me to ever come back. Wasn't I charged with desertion, unauthorized absence, or something?" Harm was now looking at the Admiral intently.

"Actually, no. For the record, you've been officially listed as missing. Something that I have the pleasure of rectifying, by the way, once I get back to Headquarters." A.J. sighed, heavily. "Harm, I want you to know we never gave up hope of getting you back. I knew your disappearance wasn't by your choice, and if it takes the rest of my life, I will find those sick bastards and make them pay for what they did."

Harm's eyes grew wide with alarm. "How much do you know about what happened to me?"

"Harm, you were unconscious when you were brought in, and rushed to emergency surgery," Chegwidden tried to explain. "Dr. Carrington told me he explained your medical issues to you this morning."

"What were *you* told? And how did I get here?" Harm's voice now had a desperate intensity to it.

"All right. You were dropped off anonymously outside of the main gate, basically thrown from a van." Chegwidden carefully kept his voice low, calm, and even. "Although I can't begin to imagine what you've been put through, I am aware of the facts; that you were tortured and seriously injured. NCIS is investigating the criminal acts that were committed against you by these three men. We have to bring the perpetrators to justice."

"Oh-god … n-o-o-o-o!" Harm wailed, unable to accept the fact that his Commanding Officer had knowledge of the vile treatment he had endured. His captor's threats rushed through his mind.

"Please, son," A.J. said, reaching forward to clasp Harm's hand. Harm squeezed back, holding his hand in a death grip, clearly agitated.

"How did you know there were three of them?" Harm asked, his voice shaking. He could feel his control slipping away.

"Tests were run, Harm. The doctors said you were violated by three different men," A.J. said softly. There was no gentle way to tell Harm what he insisted on hearing. Seeing the tears in Harm's eyes, he feared that he was going to choke with emotion as well, and he had to look down at the floor. He brought his other hand up in order to grasp Harm's hand between both of his strong hands, keeping his head lowered. "I'm so sorry."

Harm's face contorted with anguish, as he made one last-ditch effort to keep from splintering apart. "Who else knows … everything?" he asked, his voice breaking, afraid of the answer.

"Robert Manning, the NCIS agent that's been investigating your abduction since it happened, and Clayton Webb, who has been helping as well. As far as I know, no one else knows any details."

"Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god," Harm despaired, jerking his hand free from A.J.'s grip, and tucking his right arm against his chest, in an effort to hug himself. He curled into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, and tugged ineffectively at the bed covers that reached only to his waist. He desperately wanted not to break down in front of the Admiral, feeling humiliated enough already.

"Harm, oh, Harm, what can I do?" A.J. asked, feeling inadequate and helpless to support the suffering man. He got up, leaned forward, and pulled the sheet and blanket up over his shoulders, tucking them around his neck.

Harm buried his face into his pillow to hide his tears, needing someone to hold him and comfort him. He wanted his mother, or Mac, but neither one of them was here. He realized bitterly that it was best that they weren't, as a new fear welled up in his gut.

"Admiral, please, I need to ask a favor of you," he pleaded anxiously, glancing up.

"Anything, son." A.J. sat back down on the edge of the chair, leaning in close to Harm's head.

"Don't tell anyone else what was done to me. No one can ever know, especially not Mac or my mom. I don't want anyone here, I … I don't want anybody to see me like this. Promise me, please." He was visibly shaking.

"Harm, let your friends and family help you through this. Your mother is flying out here tomorrow, and everyone else will be relieved just to know you're alive." A.J. put his hand on Harm's upper arm, rubbing up and down, trying to soothe and calm him.

"No, you don't understand! I can't deal with this … with any of it … the pity … the fear … the pain … oh-god, I can't take it!" Harm became even more agitated, and began to hyperventilate. As terrible memories flooded his brain, his shoulders heaved with sobs, and he moaned into the pillow to muffle his torment.

A.J. was at a loss. Harm needed comfort; needed to be held. Unable to pull the distraught man into his arms for fear of hurting him, he simply continued to grip Harm's upper right arm. Harm's left arm was still stretched out because of the damn I.V., palm up. A.J. slipped his other hand into it, squeezing gently.

"It's okay to let go, I'm right here," A.J. said softly, as he felt his hand being squeezed back. "Just let it out, son."

"No, no, no … n-o-o-o-o!" Finally, Harm moaned into his pillow, giving in to his anguish for several moments.

Worried about the extreme level of Harm's distress, A.J. took the opportunity to surreptitiously press the call button. He then placed his hand back on Harm's shoulder. The movement caused Harm to abruptly flinch, and he shrank away from A.J.'s touch, also pulling his left hand free. Harm wiped at his eyes with his right hand, his lower lip quivering.

"I … I can't … do this," he whispered. "Don't t-touch me."

"Okay, Harm." A.J. backed away, holding his hands up in the air. "I'm sorry."

"Leave me alone, sir … p-please," Harm begged, his breath hitching.

"No." Chegwidden spoke the word quietly, but firmly, prompting Harm to lift his head and glare at him. "No, I am not leaving."

A brief expression of defiance and anger flashed across Harm's shocked face.

"What?" A.J. smirked. "Did you really expect to get rid of me that easily?" He had rendered Harm speechless for the moment, and it even seemed that his anxiety level dropped a few notches.

Brenda walked in at that moment, took one look at Rabb's red, watery eyes, and then directed her gaze to the Admiral. "I'm going to go get Dr. Carrington," she announced, and exited quickly.

"Shit!" Harm shook and spat out the word. A.J.'s eyebrow shot upwards in reaction. "Damn it, I hate losing control. I feel like I have no control over anything anymore," he snuffled."

"Harm, listen to me. It's perfectly understandable to be upset. My-god, you've been put through more hell than most people could possibly survive, but you're back. The fact that you are even here with us speaks volumes for your courage. No one expects you to be any stronger than you already are," A.J. said sympathetically. "You have every right to feel angry, afraid, …"

Harm looked at him through bleary eyes. "Rage and sheer terror would be more accurate. And what about hatred, disgust, abandonment or betrayal? Do I have the right to feel those, too?"

"It's still raw, I know, and you are in shock. But with help, support, and time, you will get through this. Things will get better, I promise."

"Don't make a promise you can't keep, Admiral. This will never be over. My life will never be the same," Harm said with deep resignation.

"Come on, Rabb. Your turn to promise me something," Chegwidden said gruffly. Harm's words were deeply troubling him. He wondered if it would have helped to shake the younger man, but immediately squashed the thought. "I need you to try. The people who care about you need you to try. Let us help you. Swear to me that you will not give up."

Harm had to look away from the Admiral's intense gaze, and he slowly shook his head. "I can't. I can't make that promise, sir. I feel like I'm losing my mind, but there's no escape. I need to be numb, but I can't." Harm closed his eyes, as he felt himself being pulled back to a specific moment in time, the memory washing over him.

* Stuck in this place, where I can't escape  
Screaming and clawing from deep inside  
I can't stand all of this fucking pain  
Please god, just go away  
Please god, just make the pain …*

Chegwidden became increasingly concerned as he watched a calm detachment settle over Harm, who seemed lost in his thoughts. Then, listening closely, he strained to hear what Harm was muttering, and it greatly disturbed him.

"Stuck in this place where I can't escape, stuck in this place where I can't escape, please god just go away, please god just go away, I can't stand all of this fucking pain, stuck in this place where I can't escape …" Harm kept chanting softly, over and over, oblivious to the Admiral's presence.

Dr. Carrington entered, holding a syringe. Chegwidden stood quickly and approached him.

"The Commander has been quite upset, but I think the worst of it has past. I guess the dam burst, doctor," the Admiral stated. Harm had stopped mumbling, and he opened his eyes.

"Merely the first, Admiral. I'm afraid it won't be the last," explained the doctor. "What kind of distress symptoms did you observe, and what triggered them?"

"He became agitated while asking me questions, and then freaked out at the thought of people knowing what was done to him. He seemed to have trouble catching his breath, panicky, near hysteria at one point. It was … emotional."

"Mmm-hmm, he suffered an anxiety attack, but it looks like he got through it." Dr. Carrington moved to the side of the bed, checking the I.V. "How are we feeling, Mr. Rabb?"

"Well, *we* would be feeling better, if everyone would just go away and leave me the hell alone," Harm said sullenly.

"Commander!" Chegwidden reprimanded.

"No, it's okay. Let him express his frustration," said Dr. Carrington. "Mr. Rabb, I'm giving you something to help you relax. You need to rest." He injected a little more sedative into the I.V. line.

"No," Harm protested. "I don't wanna be knocked out, I just wanna be numb. I need to talk to the Admiral, it's important." Harm's anxiety level started going back up, and he was determined to fight.

"Don't worry, it's only going to take the edge off, all right?"

"Okay." Harm resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do to resist. This was a feeling he knew only too well.

The doctor passed Chegwidden and spoke softly. "He should sleep until noon. Then we'll wake him to try and get some nourishment into him. I'll be back."

"Thank you, doctor," the Admiral nodded.

Whatever Harm had wanted to ask him, it could wait a few hours. Harm did not seem to remember that he had something urgent on his mind to discuss with him. A.J. could see the medication taking effect, as Harm began to relax and get drowsy.

"I need some water," he murmured, reaching out sluggishly, with a trembling hand. A.J. held the cup up for him, while he took several sips through the straw. Finished, he let his head flop back against the pillow, and sighed deeply. He stared towards the window, looking out to the sky, until his eyes drooped shut.

***

Harm was still sound asleep when the nurse came in at 12:15 to check on him. She gave the Admiral a kind smile, as he jumped up to give her some room.

"My goodness, he's still out, isn't he?" Brenda observed, as she set down her basket of supplies and began her checklist of procedures.

"Like a light," the Admiral replied.

"It's a shame that I have to wake him, he looks so peaceful, poor thing. Sometimes, the only time they have peace is when they're sleeping." After she finished taking his blood pressure and pulse, she swapped out the I.V. bag for a new one. When the Admiral didn't say anything, she continued. "You've been here all morning, sir, even though he's been sleeping. I'm sure you could use a break."

"That's all right. Just think of me as a bodyguard," Chegwidden smirked. "Besides, I don't want him to wake up alone. He might get scared."

"That's very caring of you, sir, but you know, I haven't seen any other visitors. Doesn't he have a wife or girlfriend, you know, someone special?"

"Not really." He thought about Mac, and was instantly annoyed. 'Where the hell was she, anyway?' He didn't want Rabb to think that she didn't even care enough to come see him.

"Hmmm, handsome man like him, can't believe he doesn't have a significant other, unless …" The nurse looked at A.J. meaningfully.

"Oh! God, no." A.J. caught on instantly. "No, I'm his C.O., that's all."

"Uh-huh, okay," she said, in a tone that said she wasn't sure whether or not to believe him.

Both of Chegwidden's eyebrows shot up. 'What the hell did she mean by that?' he wondered. "His mother is arriving from California tomorrow, thank goodness. I'm hoping her being here will be what he needs."

"I'm sure it will help, sir," Brenda said kindly. She began to wipe Rabb's face with a cool, wet cloth. "Come on, Mr. Rabb, wake up." She rubbed the cloth firmly across his forehead, then continued down his cheek, over his lips and chin, and back up his other cheek. "Mr. Rabb, can you hear me? Wake up now; it's time for lunch. You don't want to miss lunch, do you?" She wiped the cloth around his jaw line, then moved down his neck. Harm jumped at the cold sensation, rousing from his stupor, vaguely hearing a female voice speaking to him.

"Mac? … Mac?" Harm murmured, opening his eyes.

"No, sir, I'm not Mac. I'm Brenda, your nurse," she said jovially. She had short, dark hair like Mac's, but otherwise, looked nothing like her.

Harm looked confused, as the nurse's face came into focus. "Um … hi."

"Welcome back, sunshine." She handed him the cup of water, the ice having melted long ago. "You didn't do very well with this."

"Well, I've been asleep," Harm protested, blinking at her. He held the cup and sucked a few obligatory sips through the straw, making a face. "It's warm."

"I'll get you a fresh, new, cold one if you promise to try to get all of your lunch down. Deal?"

"Okay," Harm agreed quickly.

"Let's get you raised up just a bit." Brenda propped another pillow under his shoulder and neck and operated the mechanism that raised the end of the mattress so that he was half-sitting, half-leaning on his left side. Harm could not resist the temptation to roll his hip back a little, until he met with resistance from another pillow against his back. It didn't feel too bad to be almost on his back. "Are you feeling hungry?"

"I'm not sure," Harm answered thoughtfully. "I had been hungry for so long … my stomach feels weird all the time."

"So, are you a chocolate or a vanilla kind of guy?"

"Huh? Uh, vanilla, I guess," Harm replied, watching her and wondering what she meant. Brenda produced a can from her basket, shook it, popped the top, and put in a brand new, flexible straw. Then, she handed it to him, grinning.

"Lunch is served."

Harm looked at the label. "Ensure?" he snorted, rolling his eyes. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. You're not ready for solid foods yet, and you have to finish it all, or I'll report you," she said sternly. "You can take as long as you need, but I recommend you drink it while it's still cold. I'll be right back with your ice water."

Harm took a tentative sip and shuddered. It wasn't cold enough and not very palatable, but he realized it wasn't going to get any better.

"Looks like you have your orders, Commander." The Admiral was standing nearby with his arms crossed on his chest.

Harm's expression changed abruptly, as another bad memory washed over him. It seemed to him that, every few minutes, something would remind him of his horrific ordeal. This time, it was the can of liquid nourishment, the Admiral's command, and even his imposing presence that had Harm wide-eyed and quivering. Gradually, he managed to concentrate on drinking the stuff down, even as his stomach rebelled.

Chegwidden thought that Harm would have put up more of a fuss, or at least complained. Instead, he observed Harm obediently sucking on the straw, noticing his shaking hands and the apprehension in his face. Harm's eyes were unfocused, appearing not to be aware of anything or anyone. Surprisingly, he made fairly quick work of finishing the can's contents.

"What little my master gave me was at least tastier than this stuff," Harm muttered, his face crinkling up at the after taste, as he set the can on the table. It wasn't until the Admiral spoke, that it slowly dawned on Harm that he had expressed his thought out loud.

Chegwidden was careful not to react, slowly sitting down. "What did he give you, Harm?" he asked gently.

Harm got a faraway, pained expression on his face. "Usually, just a soup broth … but, sometimes … a milkshake or a smoothie … it just depended …" Harm shrugged and looked out the window.

"Depended on what?" Chegwidden pressed.

" I dunno." Harm's voice was barely above a whisper. "I suppose … on how well I … behaved." Harm's voice wavered on the last word. The sudden entrance of the nurse interrupted where the conversation was heading, and Harm gratefully changed the subject.

"Sure could use some of that water," he said, reaching out with his hand. Brenda handed him the large tumbler, and he immediately stuck the straw in his mouth, sucking up the cold liquid.

"I put lots of ice cubes in there, and if you want more, I brought this." She showed Harm a pitcher full of ice and water, and set it on the table. Then, she picked up the empty Ensure can. "Did you really finish all this already?" she asked, suspiciously, glancing over at the Admiral for confirmation.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Harm.

"Don't look at me," said Chegwidden. "He drank it all by himself. I'm a witness and I'll attest to that fact."

"Hmm, sounds like something a lawyer would say," Brenda remarked teasingly. She smiled at Rabb. "Would you like another one?"

Harm shook his head emphatically, still clutching the cup of ice water.

"Well, you have to drink another one in three hours." She saw Harm's expression of distaste. "Maybe, you can try a different flavor. I'll see what I can do."

The nurse left, as Clayton Webb entered the room.

"Admiral, Rabb," he said, acknowledging them both in turn. He scrutinized Rabb, noticing his dull, haunted eyes, his pale face, and his anxious, yet exhausted expression. It was the Commander's first time awake with both the Admiral and him in the room at the same time.

"Webb, you're early," Chegwidden said, stating the obvious.

"Yeah, well, I was able to wrap everything up. Besides, I know you need to get to Falls Church."

"You're right, I do," the Admiral agreed.

"How are you doing, Rabb?" Webb asked, turning back to Harm.

"Okay," Harm responded automatically. He thought it was interesting the way Webb called him by his last name, like he used to do. It was the first normal feeling moment in such a long time. Hell, he didn't know anymore when that was. "You really don't have to sit here with me, you know."

"What? My sparkling company isn't good enough for you?" Webb said facetiously, flashing his trademark smirk. He saw that he actually got the corner of Rabb's mouth to turn up for a brief moment.

"Commander, I'll be back to check on you this evening," Chegwidden stated. "There are some very worried people at JAG who need to be informed that you are back, safe and sound."

Harm felt neither safe, nor sound. He realized that no one knew anything about his status, yet, and that must have included Mac. Otherwise, she would have been here already, he thought, or would she? The Admiral had not mentioned her. Neither had Webb. He couldn't help but wonder.

"What are you going to tell them, sir?" he asked nervously.

"Don't worry, Commander, no details. Just that you are recovering in a hospital, and that you aren't up to visitors, yet," Chegwidden assured him, knowing that he wasn't ready to handle all the inevitable questions or speculation.

"Thank you, sir," Harm sighed with relief. "I just can't face …" His words trailed off, as he leaned back, turning his face against his pillow, looking defeated.

"I know, Harm. You just hang in there." Chegwidden turned toward the door.

"Wait!" Harm suddenly looked and sounded fearful, his head coming up off the pillow. "Before you go, Admiral, I … I need to ask a favor of both of you." He glanced over at Clay. "Please, it's important." Both men could see that Harm was trembling again.

"What is it, Rabb?" asked Webb.

"It's about Mac," Harm began tentatively. He had their full attention now. "There's something I have to tell you. Mac is in danger. You have to protect her." He paused, trying to find a way to say what he needed them to know.

"Please. Explain," Webb pressed.

"I …uh … this is really hard." The way that Harm stammered and couldn't look them in the eyes made it abundantly clear how difficult it was for him to talk. Chegwidden shot Webb a glance as if to say 'don't interrupt him again'. They waited patiently for Harm to gather his courage to continue.

"He's out there somewhere," Harm started. "He said he'd be watching me, and he had been watching Mac, too. He knows where she lives." It was obvious to them to whom he was referring. Harm became more agitated as he went on. "Tell Mac to be careful, and to stay away from me. Keep her safe."

The Admiral was deeply concerned. Rabb's explanation was troubling, but they needed more information. "Commander, I realize there is much you don't want to talk about, but Agent Manning from the NCIS is going to be asking you questions. Is there anything more specific that you can tell the two of us that can help us put this son-of-a-bitch away?"

"No …no, I can't!" Harm cried out, terrified. "Don't you see? If I say or do anything wrong, he will come after Mac and take her, just as he took me. He told me he would. Oh-god, I can't risk that … I won't!" He slid down from his half-sitting position, onto his side, and curled up in a ball, shaking. "Please, just protect her. I sure as hell can't." He was fighting a losing battle to maintain any emotional control. A tear escaped and rolled down his face. "Shit. When can I go home? I just wanna go h-home."

"Hey, come on, son, it's going to be okay," A.J. soothed Harm, patting him on the shoulder. He was trying to convince himself of that, almost as much as he tried to convince Harm. "We'll do everything we can, won't we, Webb?"

"Yes, of course," Clay nodded.

"Webb, walk me out," said Chegwidden. They stopped outside of the door. "Stay with him, no matter what. When I get to JAG, I *will* find a way to reach MacKenzie. In the meantime, see if you can find out from somebody when the psychiatrist will be seeing him. Otherwise, I'm going to have to have a talk with Dr. Carrington."

The Admiral departed, leaving Webb to go sit with Harm. Webb sighed. Rabb really was a mess. Webb knew from experience that things would probably get worse before they got better. He was also getting pressured by the Company to find out about Rabb's captor possibly having terrorist connections.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Harm?" Webb noticed Harm clutching the blanket to his chest, looking over at the plastic tumbler on the table.

"Maybe some water." The fact that Webb used his first name again was not lost on him. "I must be pretty pathetic," he said simply.

"Why would you say that?" Webb looked at him curiously, as he held the cup for him while Harm sipped from the straw. Harm looked so tired, so sad.

"Well, you actually called me by my first name."

"Sorry, won't let it happen again," Webb smirked.

"No, it was … I mean, it's nice to be addressed by name again … been a while." Harm was returning to a detached, calm state. Taking a few more swallows of water, he then motioned for the cup to be taken away.

Webb was aware of getting a tiny piece of insight into one of the many things Harm must have endured. He decided to push his luck and try to get him to keep talking.

"You know, Rabb, we've been trying to figure out if there is any link between your captor and terrorism." Harm just blinked at him, so he continued. "I hate asking you this, but were you interrogated for information of any kind?"

"No. No, it wasn't like that. It was much more personal," Harm answered softly. After a long pause, he went on. "I don't know how you did it in Paraguay, Clay."

Webb peered at Rabb. 'Jesus, now he's using my first name,' he thought. "I'm not sure I follow what you mean."

"Everything that that bastard Sadik did to you, and you never gave anything up, not one piece of Intel," Harm explained. "My m- … my abductor never asked for information. Although if he had, I probably would have given it to him." Harm's eyes shone with unshed tears, as he fidgeted with his bedcovers. "He could make me do anything he wanted … He … he broke me, Clay." Harm locked his gaze with Webb's briefly, before looking down.

'Oh, shit,' thought Webb. Harm looked as though he was about to break down and cry. If the Admiral was to find out that he had made Rabb cry, he'd break his nose again. He saw Harm shiver.

"It's *not* your fault, Harm. *None* of that is your fault, in any way." Webb reached over to pull the bedding up higher to cover Harm's shoulder, and tucked it around him. As he laid his palm against Harm's forehead, Harm closed his eyes. At least, he didn't feel feverish. He withdrew his hand, resting his arm next to Harm's on the bed. Harm moved slightly, his fingers wrapping around Webb's forearm. In return, Webb grasped his forearm firmly, a gesture of trust and friendship.

"Thanks, Clay," Harm whispered. He was done talking for now.

Webb learned what he most needed to know, eliminating any connection to Sadik Fahd or other terrorists. No, this was some other random, sick psychopath, one whom they were no closer to finding. He tried to imagine what was going through Rabb's mind, how much it must have cost him to reveal what he did. He watched Harm, not daring to move, hoping the tormented man would drift off.

***

Admiral A.J. Chegwidden strode purposefully into JAG Headquarters and through the bullpen, with the usual 'attention on deck' being announced.

"Carry on," he responded, heading directly to his office. He slowed down long enough to instruct Petty Officer Coates to assemble all the JAG personnel in the bullpen in ten minutes for announcements, but to send Commander Turner and Lt. Commander Barnes in to see him right away. While he waited, he checked his messages, relieved to see nothing urgent.

The two officers arrived momentarily. Commander Turner got the Admiral up to speed on all pertinent information of the day, and Shawn Barnes was introduced and officially welcomed aboard.

"I trust that Commander Turner has shown you the ropes and that you're getting acclimated," Chegwidden said.

"Yes, thank you, sir. I've been meeting everyone and settling into my office. It's quite comfortable. I am ready to jump into work." Sturgis had filled Barnes in on the man he was replacing, and Rabb's former office had been renovated and refurbished prior to his arrival. Shawn had been a little curious as to why a senior officer with Rabb's reputation had one of the smaller offices. Not that he minded at all, since he was the new guy. He had been amused to hear Turner's story about the dead animal smell in the wall, and quite relieved that the problem had been taken care of.

"Well. Very good then," Chegwidden said. "I have other news that needs to be shared with the rest of the staff, so if you'll both join them in the bullpen, I'll be out in a moment."

"Aye, aye, sir," the two officers said in unison, coming to attention. With a sharp about face, each of them exited the Admiral's office. They and everyone else that had been summoned gathered around, wondering what the Admiral was going to say. They didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Attention on deck!" Commander Turner called out, as Chegwidden came through his door. Chegwidden looked around at the faces of his people lined up in front of him for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Stand at ease." Their postures shifted simultaneously, and all eyes were on him. "First of all, I would like to extend to all of you my thanks for your hard work and dedication. It has been a rough year, especially the last few months, and I appreciate everybody's extra efforts to take up the slack around here in Commander Rabb's absence."

The staff members looked at the Admiral solemnly, as he continued. "However, this is a new year, and I trust that you will all continue to make me proud. Please welcome aboard our newest addition, Lieutenant Commander Shawn Barnes. I am confident that, with everyone's help, this office will once again run like a well-oiled machine." Chegwidden paused, glancing around the room.

"That said, I have to make an important announcement. Before I do, I am asking that you hold off on any questions, as I will be giving you only need to know information." Chegwidden had the group's undivided attention, their expressions curious and anticipatory.

"Commander Rabb is alive," he stated simply. Audible gasps were heard from several people, as wide-eyed glances were shared among the staff personnel.

"The person or persons responsible for his kidnapping apparently released him yesterday morning to receive medical attention. He is pretty beat up, but in stable condition. The Commander will be on medical leave for an indefinite period of time while he recuperates, and it is unknown at this time, when, or if, he will be returning to JAG. The recovery process will be a long one, but I am hopeful that he will be all right. I'm not going to give out hospital information, as Mr. Rabb is not up to seeing visitors. No exceptions. I realize that you have all been worried about him, but I'll keep you apprised of any changes.

"However, I imagine that all your thoughts and well-wishes would certainly cheer him up," Chegwidden continued. "Petty Officer Coates will be in charge of organizing the appropriate 'Get Well' sentiments, after which I would be happy to deliver them to the Commander. That is all for now. Carry on."

Multiple 'yes, sirs' were uttered by the officers and enlisted staff alike. As the crowd began to dissipate, quiet murmurings of relief and befuddlement could be heard among the stunned personnel. Chegwidden pulled Commander Turner aside.

"Have you heard from Colonel MacKenzie at all?" the Admiral asked.

"No, sir. I believe she is out of town," Sturgis replied. "Lieutenant Roberts mentioned something about it."

Chegwidden noticed Bud and Harriet whispering intently, heading toward Bud's office. He scowled and turned to Jennifer's desk. "Coates, do you have any contact numbers for Colonel MacKenzie other than her home and cell?"

"No, sir." The Petty Officer had known that Mac was not due back until Monday, but she had not been given any further information.

Chegwidden made his way through the bullpen and to the open doorway of Bud's office, just as he was about to close it. Harriet was standing behind Bud's desk, telephone receiver in hand.

"Lieutenants," barked the Admiral. Harriet dropped the receiver into its cradle, as she and Bud both came to attention. "I've been trying to reach Colonel MacKenzie since yesterday. You two wouldn't *happen* to know where she might be, would you?"

"Yes, sir," they answered in unison.

"Well, I'm only the Commanding Officer, but would someone care to enlighten me?" The Admiral's voice dripped with sarcasm and annoyance.

"Sir, the Colonel is in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. She went on a retreat to a spa resort," Bud explained, glancing nervously over to Harriet.

"She was worried that her cell phone might not get a good signal up in the mountains, so she gave us the number to reach her there, in case of an emergency," Harriet added, holding a piece of paper with a telephone number written on it. "I was about to call her. She would want to know the news about Commander Rabb."

Chegwidden held out his hand, palm up. "If you don't mind, Lieutenant, I need to discuss the situation with her, and will make that call myself."

"Of course, sir," Harriet replied, carefully keeping a neutral expression and her military bearing, as she placed the piece of paper in his hand.

"As you were." The Admiral stormed off to his office and closed his door, leaving Bud and Harriet looking anxiously at each other.

"Damn," sighed Bud.

"Do you think he's mad?" Harriet asked.

"What do you think?" was Bud's answer. He noticed a group of people still gathered around Jennifer's desk. He and Harriet went and joined in the discussion.

Within a few minutes, a consensus had been made on what to do for Commander Rabb. Everyone was planning to go out over the weekend and buy individual get well cards and write their own personal note inside. Money was also pooled for Petty Officer Coates to go pick out some cheerful balloons and flowers, as well as a few magazines and such to keep him occupied. Jennifer was happy to do it. It was agreed to gather everything together by Monday morning to give to the Admiral for delivery.

Shawn Barnes followed Sturgis as he walked toward his office. "Excuse me, Commander Turner? I was wondering, maybe I shouldn't get too unpacked and settled in Commander Rabb's old office, I mean, considering the surprising turn of events."

"I wouldn't worry about it. From the sound of things, Commander Rabb won't be needing it any time soon," Sturgis replied, as a concerned frown played across his features.

"If you say so, sir. I just hope he's really going to be all right."

"I was just thinking the same thing," Sturgis said thoughtfully, as he retreated to his office.

Meanwhile, Chegwidden was able to reach Mac at the resort where she had gone to get away from everything and be pampered. She was more than a bit shocked to hear from him, realizing it must have been something urgent to get her whereabouts out of Bud and Harriet. After he admonished her for not staying in touch, she admitted that she had given up on her cell phone, and had simply turned it off. He then explained the reason for the call.

Chegwidden filled Mac in on the developments of the past day, without revealing specific details of Rabb's ordeal and injuries. He also told her about the perpetrator still being at large, and that the Commander was convinced she was in danger. He warned her to be extra careful, and that part of the increased security measures included her staying away from Rabb. Mac protested, much more concerned for Harm than for her own safety. She wanted to see for herself that Harm was going to be all right. The Admiral had to insist that Rabb did not want her to see him, at least for the time being, and that visitor restrictions would be strictly enforced. Mac, though upset, was forced to acquiesce to his command. She had originally planned to come back to D.C. the next day, so Chegwidden convinced her there was no point in her returning early, that he would be in touch if there should be any updates, and that he wanted to see her first thing Monday morning.

Mac ended the phone conversation having more questions than answers. Although her getaway was rejuvenating and she felt enormous relief that Harm was back, worry and concern for him gnawed at her gut. She had no doubt that she could take care of herself; it was just a matter of going into full 'Marine-mode', taking extra precautions. She decided she would call Bud and Harriet to get their version of the news.

***

The afternoon was a busy and difficult one for Commander Rabb. Clayton Webb was chased out of the room when Dr. Carrington came in with the urologist to examine Harm. Webb hung around the hallway, always on the alert that no unidentifiable strangers entered Rabb's room. After quite a while, both doctors came out and walked off in the other direction from where Webb had been pacing. Webb slipped quickly back into the room.

He was surprised to find Harm sitting up against the raised bed, propped up with pillows, his face a tightly controlled mask, trying to hide how much discomfort he was in.

"Hey. You doing okay?" Clay asked.

"I guess." Harm snorted. "At least the catheter is out."

"Ouch." Clay grimaced sympathetically, pulling up the chair and sitting close to Harm's bed.

"Yeah. They even had me up and walking around. Well, sort of. Never thought about how difficult it could be just to take a normal whiz." Harm shook his head in disgust. He had suffered through the indignity of having his penis looked at, touched, and thoroughly examined, only to be told that he may possibly still have leakage or 'accidents', and to tell the nurse if he did have any problems with bladder control. In spite of still feeling extremely weak, he did, however, manage to show them he could make the short trip to the bathroom when necessary. "They're concerned about nerve damage … you know … from the electric shocks." Harm looked down and fell into an awkward silence, having said more than he wanted or intended to.

Webb tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound trite or patronizing. "Yeah, I know, Harm. I understand more than you know."

Harm's head jerked up, and he peered at Webb as though he was really studying him. "What are you saying? You couldn't possibly know how it feels to have your dick zapped," he spat angrily.

"Been there, done that, my friend," Webb said calmly. "Okay, maybe not that *exactly*, but trust me, getting your balls fried ain't no picnic either." Harm stared at him, his mouth hanging open, as Webb continued. "Kind of gives a new meaning to the phrase 'roasted nuts', you know?"

Harm let out a loud snort from his throat; he was so stunned. Webb just sat there looking at him with a rueful smirk on his face, snickering at his bad joke. This, in turn, caused Harm to chuckle self-consciously, in spite of himself. The reaction was contagious, each setting the other off. The next thing they knew, they were both laughing uproariously, completely out of control, neither of them remembering what had been so funny in the first place.

Finally, their laughter subsided. Webb wiped at the tears in his eyes, while Harm held his stomach.

"Ouch," Harm said, rubbing at his belly. "Fuck, we're a pathetic pair, aren't we? I can't believe we were laughing about this."

"Well, it sure as hell beats crying," said Webb, still catching his breath. "Christ, I can't remember when I last laughed as hard as that."

The exchange seemed to have broken any remaining tension between them, and Harm came to the realization of just how much Webb must also have gone through. They had more in common than he ever would have imagined, and he had gained a newfound insight into the man that was Clayton Webb. He held his arm up, his palm facing Clay, and Clay's hand met his in a firm, brotherly grip.

"Thanks, Clay. You're a good friend," Harm said, suddenly serious. The sad tone in his voice matched his expression. In spite of his belief that Webb had become involved with Mac, he wasn't going to hold it against him for going after what he wanted; something he himself had never had the guts to do. He had had his chances, and had blown them all, and had even lost his best friend in the process. He convinced himself that everything was his own fault, and that Mac would never want him now, not like this, not after the things he had done. Harm released his grasp on Webb's hand and withdrew into himself.

Webb said nothing, as a pang of guilt gnawed at him. He didn't feel like a very good friend at the moment. Though he wished all this had never happened to Rabb, his reasons were, at times, selfish. Before Rabb's abduction, he was moving towards a relationship with Sarah, something he desired with all his heart. They shared a bond, had become close, cared for each other in times of mutual need. He realized now that they would never be more than friends. He had to accept that he wasn't the one she was in love with. Now, Rabb was back, and although he didn't know what the future would hold, he knew that Harm needed Mac more than he did, and he would step aside if he had to.

Webb was keenly aware of the way Rabb's emotions yo-yoed from one extreme to the other. He could see the fierce determination in the damaged man, as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control through sheer will power alone. Webb knew all too well, how the exhausting, never-ending stress could take its toll. He had the feeling that Rabb was barely hanging on by a thread, and he was about to tell him that he wouldn't be alone, that things would eventually get better. However, he did not get the chance.

The door opened and a nurse came in carrying an ice bucket, with several items resting on the ice. She was much younger than the other two nurses that Harm had been trying to get used to.

"How are you doing, Mr. Rabb?" she smiled at him, her long, blond hair pinned up in a practical, no-nonsense style.

"Where's Brenda?" Harm asked, not answering her question.

"She finished her shift," the young nurse replied patiently. "My name is Lori, and I'm working the afternoon shift. Have you been drinking your water?"

"Yes," Harm answered, shaking his nearly empty container.

Lori took the tumbler, refilled it with fresh ice from the bucket, and then opened a large bottled water, pouring it over the ice. She left the bottle on the table, but handed the cup back to Harm. "The more you drink, the sooner we can get rid of your I.V.," she explained. She pointed to the cans of Ensure in the bucket. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to drink two of these. I've got chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, so take your pick."

"Why two?" Harm protested.

"Well, several reasons. First, we need to build up your strength, and it's good for you. You also have to do this in order to graduate to solid foods. Of course, if you don't *want* to get cut loose from this place anytime soon …"

"Okay, okay." Harm rolled his eyes in surrender. "I'll try the strawberry and … um … chocolate, I guess." The nurse set two containers and two straws on the small, portable table in front of him.

"Which one do you want me to open for you first?"

"Really, I can do that myself," Harm replied insistently.

"Do I need to stay and make sure you finish them?" she asked with a smug grin, placing her hands on her hips.

"No, I don't need a babysitter to drink these. Besides, I've already got one." Harm looked pointedly over at Clay.

"All right then. Let me know if you need anything else." After Lori checked the I.V. line, she picked up her bucket and departed.

Harm drank the strawberry flavored shake first, finding it overly sweet and artificial tasting. He finished it without delay, just to be done with it. As he opened the second container, he caught Webb watching him with a small grin on his face.

"Not one word, Webb." Harm took a tentative sip from the chocolate flavored drink. Compared to the strawberry one, this wasn't half-bad.

"Hey, I didn't say a thing!" Webb exclaimed with mock surprise.

The door opened again, and Dr. Carrington entered. A man was with him, one that neither Webb nor Rabb recognized as having been seen before. Immediately, Harm tensed up. Clay noticed his apprehension, and he stood, automatically moving to a protective position between Harm's bed and the two men. Introductions were made.

"Mr. Rabb, this is Dr. John Parnell. He's going to talk with you a bit," stated Dr. Carrington. He then asked Webb to walk out with him, leaving Clay no choice but to leave Harm alone with this new doctor. Once they reached the end of the hallway, the doctor stopped to speak.

"Mr. Rabb is in good hands, Mr. Webb. Not only is he one of our finest psychiatrists, he is an expert in trauma, stress, and anxiety disorders," Dr. Carrington explained.

"Good. We all want Commander Rabb to have the best possible care," said Webb.

"He's going to be in there for some time, so you might as well take a break."

"Thank you, doctor." Webb decided to take a brief walk outside to make a few phone calls, after which he would stay close by and wait for the consultation in Rabb's room to end.

An hour and a half later, Webb was pacing restlessly up and down the hall outside of Rabb's room. He knew the psychiatrist was still in there, due to the convenient little placard on the door that stated 'Examination in Progress'. Clay began to wonder if the length of time the session was taking was a good sign or a bad one.

Agent Manning came walking towards him, stopping before he reached the door to Rabb's room.

"How's everything going?" the NCIS agent asked politely.

"You can't go in there," Webb stated.

"I can see that."

"Besides, Admiral Chegwidden isn't here, so I'm not going to allow you to even talk to Rabb."

"When *will* he be here?" Manning was clearly annoyed.

"This evening," replied Webb. "Look, Rabb won't even talk to us. I don't see how he's going to be able to answer your questions. He's not ready to deal with any of this yet."

"Doesn't he understand that he needs to help us in order to get this psychopath off the streets?"

"I don't know. He's been severely traumatized. You haven't seen how afraid he is," Webb said grimly. He was just as frustrated as Manning. "Anyway, you're the last person he would trust, after NCIS hung him out to dry last spring."

"Fuck. I heard all about that murder case from Agent Gibbs. It seems the Commander had spent nearly a month in the brig before he was cleared of the charges."

"So, you can't blame Rabb for having a bad taste in his mouth when it comes to the NCIS," Webb stated.

"Well, this time he's not the suspect, he's the victim, and the only witness I've got. Nobody got a license plate number on the van that dropped him off here. You should know that I work a little differently than Gibbs, but at some point, I have to meet with Rabb. Maybe you could prepare him or something. I will be back later," Manning said adamantly. He then turned and stormed off down the corridor, disappearing around a corner, leaving Webb standing with his hands in his pants pockets.

Finally, the doctor came out and Webb cornered him. "How is he, doctor?"

"He's resting. Mr. … Webb, isn't it?" Dr. Parnell looked at him pointedly. Webb nodded in response. "Dr. Carrington told me about you and an Admiral Chegwidden keeping a constant vigil over Mr. Rabb. However, I'm not about to discuss confidential patient information with you. Excuse me." He abruptly turned and headed off to the nurse's station.

Webb's frustration showed, his lips drawn in a tight, thin line. Nonchalantly, he followed Parnell at a safe distance, watching and listening, as the doctor spoke to the nurse behind the counter.

"Add these two medications, with the following dosing schedule, to Harmon Rabb's chart," Parnell instructed, handing the nurse a piece of paper. "And could you locate Dr. Carrington for me?"

"Right away, doctor." A few moments later, she had the information needed, and Dr. Parnell left to consult with Dr. Carrington.

Webb, torn by a moment of indecision on whether to follow him in an attempt to learn more, realized that Rabb was alone right now. He sighed, and went back to the room, quietly slipping inside to check on Rabb for himself, wondering what he would find.

The room was darkened somewhat by the fact that the blinds had been closed. Harm was lying in his most comfortable position, which was curled up on his right side, facing the door. His eyes were closed. Webb quietly brought the chair around and got himself seated in front of the unmoving form before him. Harm's eyes opened.

"Hey, Rabb," Webb smiled. "Thought you were asleep."

Harm's lips twitched up in a tiny grin at Clay's greeting. "Hey, Webb," he said softly.

"How are you doing?" Clay sounded concerned. He peered at Harm curiously, noticing his red-rimmed, unfocused eyes, and couldn't help but wonder just how drugged Harm was.

"I'm really tired," Harm sighed.

"Dr. Parnell was in here a long time. How did that go?"

"I dunno. He asked a lot of questions," Harm answered listlessly. "He probably thinks I wasn't very cooperative."

"Oh? What makes you say that?" Webb pressed.

"Well, I was pretty evasive. I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Okay, no problem."

"Could you open the blinds?" Harm abruptly changed the subject. "I don't know why he closed them."

"Sure." Clay got up and went to the window, turning the slats so that the late afternoon sun shone into the room. "Better?"

"Yeah, I like seeing the sky." Harm rolled over slowly onto his back, and took a long drink of water. "I'm hoping to be rid of this thing by tomorrow," he said, holding out his arm, indicating the I.V. "It'll make it easier to get around, and it's very important to me that my mother sees that I'm going to be just fine."

"Rabb, there's nothing wrong with having your mother's comfort and support, you know," Webb said, as he sat back down.

"I know that. But what I really need is to convince her there's nothing to worry about. The longer she stays, the more chance that she'll find out too much about … what happened. God, I won't be able to take it if she knows what I suffered through," Harm said, his voice wavering. He got no argument from Webb.

"I … I just have to hold it together for the next few days, let my mom think I'm all right," Harm said stubbornly. "Once she goes back home, that's when I'll start trying to deal with where to go from here."

"You don't have to do it alone, Rabb. Remember that."

"I know," Harm sighed deeply, turning back onto his side. "You and the Admiral are the only two people I trust to protect my secrets, Clay. I'm afraid that I'm going to need a lot of help."

"You've got it, Harm," Clay assured him. He gazed at Harm's face intently, realizing how difficult it had to be for Harm to make such an admission. He watched Harm's eyes drift shut, and then sat there in the silence, thinking how fragile Harm looked and sounded. Clay had seen plenty of terrible injustices in his life, and had lived through more than his share in the course of his duty to his country. It was all so unfair. He wondered what the future would bring; if Harmon Rabb would ever be whole again, but he was certain that nothing would ever be the same.

 

END OF CHAPTER 3

TBC in CHAPTER 4 – AFTERMATH: BREAKDOWN

**********************************************


	5. Aftermath:  Breakdown (Ch.4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This begins the healing and recovery odyssey of the story arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: FRAO (for adult content: smut, het sex, language, extreme angst, violence, references to slash rape, etc.)  
> WARNINGS: Chapter 4 may still contain a squick factor for some, due to references to torture, slash, rape, etc. via flashbacks and frank medical discussion. (But not as graphic as Chapter 2.)

*********************************

 

CHAPTER 4 - AFTERMATH: BREAKDOWN

 

*Harmon Rabb Junior sat on a wall.  
Harmon Rabb Junior had a great fall.  
Can all the King's horses  
And all the King's men  
Put poor Harm back together again?*

***

Harmon Rabb's hospital room was bathed in increasing darkness from the early setting of the winter sun. Clayton Webb turned on the small reading light, then stretched and wandered over to the window. Harm had been dozing for a while, yet restless even in his sleep. Thus far, he had not been subjected to a roommate, giving him much needed and appreciated privacy from strangers.

Webb knew that the Admiral would be here soon. Unfortunately, Agent Manning would also be making an appearance, and that had him concerned. Under the circumstances, he was surprised that Rabb appeared as lucid as he had, speculating that the sedatives and pain medications probably had a lot to do with that. Mostly, Harm appeared detached and withdrawn, with periods of confusion or anxiety in between. The long session with Dr. Parnell seemed to have taken a lot out of him. Webb wondered if the psychiatrist would be able to get through to Harm, and hoped he would allow the man to help him. Only time would tell.

The nurse came in with a small tray. "I brought Mr. Rabb's supper," she said softly.

"He's sleeping," Clay gestured towards the bed.

"It's hot chicken broth; sure would be a shame for it to get cold." The nurse's tray also held a can of the usual Ensure shake. "I'm required to see to it he gets this," she added.

"Well, it's also a shame to wake him up," Webb said, with a hint of irritation.

"I am awake," Harm murmured, as he lifted his head.

"Oh, good," Lori said, smiling. She set the tray on the portable bed table, and was about to roll it in front of Harm, as he moved to sit up.

"Uh-oh." A strange expression came over Harm's face, and he threw the covers back with a sense of urgency. "Excuse me." He slid carefully out of the bed and onto his feet, feeling weak and wobbly, but determined.

"Let me help you," Lori said, grabbing a hold of his arm.

"No! No, don't touch me. I can do this myself." Harm sounded angrier than he intended to. His I.V. bag hung from a metal stand with wheels, and hanging on to the pole with one hand for balance and support, he made his way with it to the bathroom as quickly as he could safely manage.

"Well, if you're sure."

"I do not need or want anybody's help to take a damn leak." Harm slammed the door behind him.

"Gee, that went well," said Lori.

"Don't take it personally," Webb remarked.

"Nah. I don't," she grinned at him.

Harm returned a minute later, relieved. He had made it in time, though barely. The urge would come on suddenly, with little warning. Though difficult, he was at least regaining bladder control and function. It was a small step forward, and he concentrated on the task in front of him. He slowly returned to the side of the bed and gingerly sat down on the edge. The nurse had already raised the bed, so that he could sit up. After getting him carefully situated, she propped pillows behind his back, and pulled up the covers over his lap, tucking them around him.

Harm hung his head. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said, sounding contrite and embarrassed.

"No reason to be," said Lori, as she rolled the table over to him. "It's only chicken broth, hope it's still warm."

"I like chicken broth," Harm said eagerly, picking up the large mug and sipping from it. "Mmm, warm enough, thanks. It's a nice change of pace from the usual." He pointed to the can. "Guess that's dessert, huh."

"Yup. Didn't know what flavor to get ya, so I figured I'd surprise ya." She checked his water, refilled it, and set it where he could easily reach it. "Need anything else?"

"No, thanks."

"I'll be going home in a little while. See ya tomorrow, Mr. Rabb." Lori flashed him a brilliant smile and headed for the door.

"Okay. Good night."

"I'm sure you'll be eating real food again soon, Rabb. Bet you're looking forward to that," Webb said in an attempt to make conversation.

"Oh, I don't know," Harm sighed, taking a break from drinking the soup down. "I just hope my digestive system can handle it. At least, this goes down easy."

Webb looked at him curiously. It wasn't like Harm to give up that easily. He seemed so resigned, like the fight had gone out of him, and that he was just going through the motions of living.

Agent Robert Manning strolled into the room. "Mr. Webb," he announced, nodding to Clay.

"Mr. Manning," Webb replied.

"Hello, Commander Rabb. I'm Agent Robert Manning with NCIS," he walked over and extended his hand. "You can call me Rob, if you'd like."

"W-what do you want with me, Agent Manning?" Harm asked suspiciously, ignoring the man's attempt at familiarity. He drew back against the pillows, clutching his mug in both hands.

"Obviously, Admiral Chegwidden isn't here yet, so you'll have to wait outside," Webb interrupted, gesturing and trying to steer the man to the door.

"Fine. I just wanted to introduce myself." He bid a hasty retreat. Webb, with his hands on his hips, turned back to an anxious Harm.

"He's been told that he can't question you without the Admiral's presence."

"I don't want to answer any questions," Harm said nervously.

"That's why we're here," Webb shrugged. "To protect you as much as possible."

By the time Chegwidden arrived, Harm had finished his soup, as well as the liquid protein. He was still sitting up in bed with the covers pulled up around his waist, and his fingers fidgeted nervously with his blanket.

Manning had followed Chegwidden through the door. The Admiral, still in uniform, sat in the chair closest to the head of Harm's bed, while the NCIS agent, carrying a file folder, notebook and pen, pulled up another chair and took a seat. Webb moved to the other end of the room, giving them space and allowing the Admiral to take over.

"How are you feeling, Commander?" A.J. asked.

"I'm … ah … not sure, sir," Harm said, glancing over to Manning.

"Harm, I realize this is difficult for you, but Agent Manning here has been working with Webb and me investigating your disappearance from the very beginning," Chegwidden began. "There was just so little to go on. He's going to ask you some questions, so he can resolve this case. Let's catch this bastard and put him away, so he won't hurt anyone else and you won't have to live in fear."

"Admiral, please don't make me talk about this," Harm said, his eyes pleading, as he looked at the man in authority, the man he once looked up to as a mentor. Then, the events of the past year had filled Harm with doubt and caused him to lose faith. He no longer had any reason to believe the Admiral would be able to protect him, even if he wanted to.

"How about we start off slow and easy?" Manning offered.

"How about you just hurry up and get this over with?" Harm retorted, averting his eyes downward. As soon as the words left his mouth, the memory of when he had said similar words before suddenly flooded his mind. *Just get this over with already.*

"All right, I'll do the best I can," answered Manning. Harm never heard Manning's reply. All his mind could hear was his master's angry response. *What did you say?* Then, the memory of him begging and crying, as the master prepared to torture him again, made Harm shudder.

"Commander?" Harm was yanked back to the present, and tried to focus on what the agent was saying. "… just to confirm what we've pieced together, I'll start off with simple yes or no questions, okay?"

"Um … I'll try. Can't promise anything," Harm murmured. His eyes began to exhibit a slightly glazed over appearance, which did not go unnoticed by the three men observing him. To get through this, Harm was trying to numb himself, to go on autopilot, just as he had so many times in his captivity. As much as his Commanding Officer appeared to be the intimidating authority figure at the moment, it could not compare with the hold his master had over him. Harm resolved to divulge only what was safe. He would have to be careful not to give anything away.

"Okay, from the beginning, then," Manning said, as he looked over his notes on the case. "Do you remember anything about the night you were taken?"

"Not much. I worked late, went out to unwind, had a few beers. Then, I went to leave and felt really strange. I knew I didn't have that much beer. I tried to make it to my car, but must have passed out. The next thing I knew I was waking up somewhere pitch-black and cold. I had no idea even what day it was." In his mind, Harm had relived that night over and over, wondering how he could have done something different to change the outcome. If only he hadn't gone to that bar, if only he had paid more attention, been more alert.

"Your SUV was found several days later, still in the parking lot."

"Where is it now?" Harm asked, lifting his head. Until now, Harm hadn't even thought about the practical issues of his extended absence.

"Don't worry, Commander," A.J. interjected. "Once the police and NCIS were through with it, we got it out of the impound lot with Mac's help. It's been parked at my house."

"Yeah, the Colonel and I found the extra key in your apartment, Rabb. She's been taking care of your place, your mail and bills, too."

Harm became alarmed at hearing that piece of information. "Shit! You shouldn't have let her go over there. It's too risky!"

Webb was about to answer when Manning cut in. "Why is that, Commander?"

"Because … because she could have been snatched just as easily as I was," Harm admitted, hanging his head. "He said he would if … if I didn't behave."

"From the start, we've been under the assumption that we're dealing with a dangerous, intelligent criminal, and everyone has taken precautions, including Mac," said Chegwidden.

"Sarah has never gone to check on your loft alone, Rabb. She always took someone with her. Besides, she's a Marine and can take of herself, just ask her," Webb smirked. "I also took the liberty of installing surveillance equipment, not that anything came out of it, but you never know."

Harm realized how much trouble everyone seemed to have gone through to help him. "Remind me to thank her," he mumbled.

"So, he threatened you in order to keep you in line?" asked Manning.

"Yes."

"Did you know this man?"

"No, I'd never met him before that I know of."

"Did he know who you were?"

Harm paused to think before replying, trying to decide if it was safe to tell the truth. "Yes."

"So, you were not a random victim, then." Manning scribbled in his notebook. "Did you learn the reason why he chose you?"

"Does a twisted psychopath need a reason?" Harm asked angrily. "No, other than some supposed revenge, the specific reasons were never revealed to me." Harm was becoming more agitated. He would never understand why this had happened to him. Clutching the blanket up over his chest, he pulled his legs up and wrapped his arm around his knees. Resting his forehead, he effectively hid his face from view, as he sat curled in a ball.

"What did he look like?"

"I don't know," Harm lied.

"Surely, you must have seen him in all that time," Manning persisted.

"It was dark most of the time, or there was one light glaring right at me."

"Okay, we'll come back to him," Manning sighed, making another note. "Let's go back to the first night. My reports say you were seen leaving with two men. Can you describe them for me?"

"I don't remember," Harm muttered without lifting his head.

"Can you remember anything at all, like what they said, how they got you outside, their vehicle, anything?"

Harm looked up. "I told you, I think I was drugged. The room started spinning when I stood up. I think I was being helped outside. It all felt really wrong, then nothing."

"When you woke up, what did you notice about your surroundings?"

"I couldn't see a thing and I had a wicked headache, like a hangover, but worse. It was quiet, cold, damp. Then … I realized I couldn't move, that I was strapped onto … something." Harm paused, wrapping his other arm around his knees as well, and stared blankly at the wall. "I … I had been stripped of all my clothes, and I was trying not to freak out. While I was alone, I kept thinking this had to be a nightmare that I'd eventually wake up from. Then, when someone finally came in, that was when the nightmare really began." Harm started shaking, as the memory of first meeting the master hit him. He had said more than he intended to and he closed his eyes, hugging himself harder. "Oh, shit. Can't do this … can't … no choice … no choice … no choice," he whispered.

The Admiral put his hand on Manning's arm. "How much more you gonna put him through?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral. I have several more questions."

"Well, do it quickly or I'll decide you're done." Chegwidden peered at Harm. "Commander, are you with us?" Harm responded with a slight nod.

"What did the room look like?" Manning moved on.

"I didn't notice."

"Can you describe anything about where you being held?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't want to." Harm was clearly being evasive.

"Did the man tell you his name?"

"No, I never knew his name. I didn't know anybody's name and nobody ever called me by name. It was one of the rules." He turned his head slightly to look grimly at the agent. "I was nothing more than a nameless animal."

"Well, how did you address your abductor then?"

"He made me call him 'Master'," Harm said softly, casting his eyes downward.

"Commander, we know there were at least three men involved. Were there any more than three?"

"No."

"So let me get this straight. Two men abducted you. A third man held you as his prisoner for seven weeks for unknown reasons, and you can't describe the 'perps' or the place you were kept."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Harm said sarcastically, throwing a withering glare in Manning's direction.

"Well, that's pretty vague," Manning stated.

"Move on," Chegwidden warned him.

"All right," Manning said. "Did this man interrogate you?"

"No."

Were you beaten?"

"Yes."

"Whipped?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"I don't know. Every day, at first."

"You were tortured in other ways, also, correct?"

"Uh … yes." Harm began to rock slightly, as he tried to block out the images in his mind.

"By all three 'perps'?"

Harm shook his head. "Mostly the one."

"What did he do?"

"Is this really necessary?" questioned the Admiral. By this point, Webb had silently sunk onto the bed on the other side of the room, but his concerned gaze remained locked on Harm.

"We're almost through. I assure you that it's important that I build my case as thoroughly as possible. If we get these guys, I need to know what was committed against Mr. Rabb and how many counts to charge them with. You of all people know that."

Chegwidden knew the investigator was right, but the questions were becoming even more difficult. He wasn't sure how much more Rabb could take. Harm looked miserable.

"It doesn't matter," Harm spoke up. "It's not like I think about anything else anyway. When I'm asleep, he's in my nightmares, and when I'm awake, all I see is his face. I'll never be free of him. Besides, you'll never find him; nobody found me in seven weeks," Harm said bitterly. He looked over at the NCIS agent.

"If I don't tell you what you want to know, you'll just come back and harass me another time, right? So, if I talk now, then will you leave me the hell alone?" Harm's eyes flashed with a defiant anger, as he wound up.

"I can't begin to imagine all you had to endure, Commander. Just tell me what you can, in general terms," Manning said calmly. "How were you treated?"

"I was so afraid, so confused," Harm began in a low voice, his eyes focused on some faraway place. "I had no sense of time, couldn't keep track of the number of days. The man's cruelty was beyond anything I could comprehend, hours of unending pain and humiliation. He … he said he was going to break me … and he did. It only took a few days, I think." Harm started rocking again, a little more noticeably. As he paused, the silence in the room was deafening, but no one interrupted. They realized that he was on a roll now, and perhaps needed to get whatever he could out of his system. "Once I learned the rules, the beatings and electric shocks stopped for a while. Bad behavior was punished; good behavior was rewarded. I did what I had to, to survive." Harm quivered and his voice began to tremble. "Every day, I was hosed off with cold water like an animal, had a hose shoved up my ass, and staked out helplessly for his amusements. I was constantly cold and naked and in pain. I had to earn every small privilege, like water or a blanket at night. Oh-god, the things he made me do." Harm shuddered and hugged himself tightly, his rocking becoming more pronounced. It seemed as though he was unable to continue.

"I think that's quite enough," Chegwidden said gruffly. He glanced over toward Webb, who was sitting with his head lowered, staring at the floor. Webb looked up at the sound of the Admiral's voice, his eyes shining with tears.

"No. I'm not finished yet." Harm surprised everyone, though his gaze never moved from the imaginary spot on the wall. "After awhile, I just became numb to the physical violations. I had absolutely no control over my body, or anything else for that matter."

"You were sodomized on more than one occasion." It was a statement of fact more than a question. Manning wanted confirmation.

"Yes."

"Orally, as well?"

"Yeah."

"Can you give me a rough estimate as to how often these rapes occurred?"

Harm stopped rocking, with an incredulous expression on his face. "I don't know. Fuck! I didn't keep count! Why does that matter?"

"The number of counts of sexual assault would be considered at indictment and sentencing," Manning said patiently.

"Shit, I knew that," Harm said softly, his voice getting quiet again. "Well, I was … um … taken nearly every day, one way or the other, sometimes both, or even several times a day. I was held captive for … what … forty-eight days? Oh, and once in awhile, he'd give his two assistants a turn, so you do the math. Tell you what, why don't you write down a nice round number, like fifty or sixty? Will that do for your report?" Harm was clearly agitated, his anger threatening to make him lose his tenuous control. They could see him shaking, sweating. He was breathing heavily. He struggled desperately not to fall apart.

Chegwidden intervened, standing up. "That's it, Manning, it's over. Please take your leave. Now."

"Commander Rabb, I am truly sorry for your ordeal. Please take care of yourself," the agent said as he headed for the door.

"Yeah, well, be sure and tell Gibbs hello for me," Harm responded shakily, but with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

The Admiral saw Manning to the door, then closed it firmly behind him. When he turned back around, he found that Webb had crossed to Harm's bed, and was sitting on the edge, next to his right side, but careful not to touch him.

"There's more," Harm said, glancing up at A.J. and then back to Webb. "You know, I found out that there were even worse things than being raped. The worst thing of all was the isolation. He fucked with my head so much that it wore me down. I surrendered my mind, as well. I wasn't strong enough and I'm sorry. I had to depend on him for everything, and eventually, he treated me better. Now I don't even have that anymore. I never thought I'd come out of that place alive. I was brought to the brink of death, and then he snatched that release away from me, too. Everything's different now. I don't see how I'm ever going to get back who I was. I feel completely overwhelmed and I don't know how to deal with it."

"I'm really sorry, Harm," Webb whispered, his eyes glistening as he gazed upon Harm's wretched expression. It was Harm's undoing. His face contorted into a mask of sorrow and pain, and his breath hitched in his chest, as the last trace of composure abandoned him.

"Oh-god, Clay!" Harm sobbed, resting his forehead against his knees. "What am I going to do? I'm terrified of being touched and being alone, at the same time." His shoulders shook, as the sobs hiccupped through him.

"It's all right. You're not alone. I'm here," Webb said gently. He looked at Chegwidden helplessly, as if to say 'do something'. "I'm here … and A.J.'s here, too."

"I-I … wish … my … mom … was … here," Harm gasped between hiccups. He ached desperately for some kind of comfort, any kind, even as he remembered the times being held in his master's arms. "She'd hold me and tell me everything's gonna be okay."

"I'm afraid I'm a lousy substitute for your mother, Harm," Webb said, slowly and carefully placing his left hand on Harm's right shoulder, then inching closer. "But will a hug from me do for now?"

Harm lifted his tear-streaked face to gaze, bleary-eyed, at Clay, who was holding out his right arm. Harm crumpled again, leaning, then falling against Clay's chest. Clay slid his left hand across Harm's back to firmly grip his upper left arm, as his right arm wrapped around Harm's chest. As he held the shaking, heaving man, he rocked side-to-side, rocking Harm with him. Harm completely let go with hoarse, heart rendering wails, and continued for a few minutes, while Clay let his own silent tears fall in empathy.

Webb watched as A.J. sat on the opposite edge of the bed, mindful of the I.V. bag and tube, and settled next to Harm's left side. The older man looked miserable as well, his face grim, jaw set, lips pressed tightly together.

A.J. didn't know what to do, other than to take in the emotional scene in front of him. He met Webb's reddened eyes, as the shorter man held Harm, his chin resting on top of Harm's head. Harm had buried his face into Webb's chest, his left hand clung to Webb's shoulder, and his loud sobs were quieting down to a soft weeping. A.J. was at a loss for words. He was reminded of the last time he had witnessed a man fall apart so utterly. That was over three years ago, when he held Bud Roberts in his arms, right after baby Sarah had died. He felt helpless then, and he felt just as helpless now. Sighing, there was not much else he could do, so he simply placed his large, strong hand on the back of Harm's neck and rubbed, letting Harm know he was there, too.

Harm fell silent, save for intermittent, ragged sighs and hiccups, as he calmed down. The feelings of panic and despair had passed, for the moment, and he felt safe, surrounded by comfort and sympathy.

Several more minutes passed in the quiet room, as no words were spoken. Clay continued to rock Harm, almost imperceptibly, and A.J. kept his hand behind Harm's neck, stroking in little circles. As long as Harm didn't move or pull away, they weren't going to be the first to let go, either.

Finally, Clay felt, more than heard, the rumble of Harm's voice. At first, it was the sound of humming, incoherent and barely above a whisper. A.J. heard it, also, and they listened closely. Clay could feel Harm clinging harder to him and taking over, as he began to rock back and forth again, pulling Clay with him. The humming became a low, soft chanting, and they started to decipher some of Harm's mumbled words.

"Did … my … time … I … did … my … time, I … did my time. I'll never tell … can't tell … can't tell … I've said too much. My master won't be happy. Oh-god-oh-god … I tried so hard. Why is everything so fucking hard? I can't … I can't … oh-god … no choice … no choice … no choice." Harm paused with a groan, winding down.

Webb, looking at Chegwidden, took the opportunity to jump in. "Hey, hey, hey, hey … s-s-h-h-h-h-h. It's okay … okay, okay." Webb spoke softly, attempting to sooth and calm, while A.J. patted Harm's back.

"Hurt so bad, Clay," Harm murmured, finally lifting his head, and straightening up. He put the heels of his hands over his eyes, trying to wipe his face.

"Not going to let him hurt you anymore, Harm, that's a promise," Webb said, making it a solemn oath. He released the hold he had on Harm, and wiped at his own eyes.

"Okay," Harm answered meekly. He noticed Clay's wet eyelashes and bloodshot eyes, as Clay grabbed a box of tissues.

"Here, you look like you could use one," Clay said wryly, offering Harm a tissue.

"Thanks, Webb, you look like shit, too, you know," Harm snorted, giving Clay a tiny smirk.

"Gee, thanks, Rabb. You know, when I think of the term 'male-bonding', this isn't exactly what I have in mind." Webb's attempt at sarcastic humor fell flat, which he realized as soon as he saw Harm's expression become serious and faraway again.

"Sorry," Harm muttered. His mind flashed instantly to another moment in time, and he saw the master's face in front of him again, uttering those words …*enough of this male bonding shit*.

"You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Harm," Chegwidden assured him, as he gave him one last, firm pat on the shoulder.

Harm flinched suddenly, bringing him back to the present moment. "Uh-h-h … excuse me, sir. I need to … uh … get up." Harm straightened his legs out and threw the covers off, revealing fading bruises on his knees and the fact that his legs were totally hairless. The hospital gown had slid up his thighs and bunched up around his hips, nearly exposing him, but he didn't care. He had to get out of the bed on the left side, where his I.V. fluids hung. "Please move, Admiral, it's urgent," Harm said desperately.

Chegwidden suddenly understood, and realizing he was in the way, he quickly snapped to and jumped up. "Let me help you, son."

Harm managed to get his legs over the side, and allowed A.J. to pull him to his feet and guide the I.V. pole alongside him. Then, with a hand firmly at Harm's right elbow for balance, he guided the trembling, wobbly man to the bathroom door.

"I can take it from here, sir," Harm stated shyly, and he disappeared behind the door as it closed.

Chegwidden walked slowly back to his chair, hand clasped behind his head, trying to rub the tension out of his neck. "Good lord, I feel like I've gone ten rounds," he sighed heavily, keeping his voice low.

"God damn it, A.J.," Webb hissed softly, shaking his head. "This is unbelievable. I cannot fathom how much abuse that fucking pervert put him through." He blew his nose, then got up and searched for a wastebasket to discard the tissue.

"I'll never understand it either. I'm surprised he told us as much as he did. Manning apparently pushed some buttons. It's more than I wanted to know, and yet I'm afraid it's just the tip of the iceberg."

"You do realize he knows damn well exactly what those bastards look like, but no way was he going to tell Manning anything useful," stated Webb.

"He was obviously threatened. Why else, other than fear, would he protect the identity of his abductor?"

"Well, I think it goes deeper than that, Admiral. I think Rabb might be showing signs of Stockholm Syndrome. I also believe this 'psycho' was methodically brainwashing him, with the intent to utterly destroy his mind. I don't think he was done with him, either. The only reason he set him free was because, otherwise, he would have bled to death. It's just my opinion, of course, but I have had to do profiling for the Company on occasion."

"Christ, Webb, what the hell do we do now?" Chegwidden asked quietly.

"We need to talk to that psychiatrist that was in here with Rabb this afternoon. I believe his name was Dr. Parnell. I tried to talk to him after he came out, but he brushed me off and wouldn't tell me anything. I overheard him at the nurses' station; all I got was that he added some meds to Rabb's chart," Webb explained.

"I'll talk to Dr. Carrington the next time he is on shift. We'll get this straightened out."

"Good, because if I'm right, Rabb will be in serious need of deprogramming. We have some excellent people with the Company that I can tap into, if needed."

"Okay. Let's stay on top of it," Chegwidden affirmed. "Whatever it takes to help ease Harm's suffering."

While the two concerned men were speaking in hushed tones, Harm was having his own conversation in his head.

After relieving himself, he stood with his hospital gown still hitched up, a shudder passing through him as he held onto his member. He could feel the scarring beneath his fingers, and steeled himself to take a closer look. For the most part, his penis appeared perfectly normal; it was only at the very root that the evidence of his master's abuse became apparent. Even there, the slightly raised, discolored ridge of scar tissue encircling the base of his cock was the only remaining, visible sign of the master's torture device. Still, that evidence would serve as just one of several constant, cruel reminders of his plight. As much as he thought his dick looked pitiful, the very real possibility that he might never be able to father children, or even function as a man again, made him feel even more pathetic. The doctor had sounded optimistic, but Harm did not share that optimism. It was too overwhelming to think about yet.

Harm pulled the gown up further. With disgust, he took a hard look at the mark on his hip branded into his flesh. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over it, another memory of searing pain forever imprinted in his mind. Fighting back a wave of nausea, he stepped over to the sink and leaned on it with both hands for a few moments. Letting the water run, Harm leaned down and rested his elbows on the edge of the vanity, repeatedly splashing cold water on his face. Finally, he straightened up, dried off with a towel, and used the toothbrush and small container of mouthwash that a nurse had put out for him.

Harm looked into the mirror above the sink, staring at his reflection. He barely recognized the pale, blotchy-skinned, haggard-looking stranger staring back at him. His eyes were red, lids swollen, and he wanted to kick himself for 'losing it' in front of his Commanding Officer and the normally stoic CIA agent.

Suddenly, Harm had the urge to check his back. Unwilling to pull apart the gown that the nurse had fastened up so carefully down his back for him, he hoisted the entire garment up over his shoulders and turned around. He peered over his shoulder to examine himself in the mirror, taking in the scars and lines that crossed his back, and as far as he could see, down past his buttocks.

With a sigh, Harm lowered his gown. He felt ugly and fragile. So far, he had been just trying to exist moment to moment, wanting to block out the past, and unable to deal with thoughts of any kind of future. For the first time, he really thought about how much he wanted out of the hospital, yet had no idea what he would do, other than just wanting to hide from the world in the safety of his home. Even his apartment wouldn't feel truly safe, he argued with himself. He was convinced the master could find him anywhere, if he wanted to.

Harm turned again, once more facing himself in the mirror. 'God, I'm so pathetic,' he thought bitterly, as he gazed at his image. He was beginning to realize just what his master had meant when he had promised to destroy every aspect of his life. Out of nowhere, Harm's fist came up and smashed into the mirror with a thud, causing it to crack. Trembling, Harm shook out his now sore hand.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. Fortunately, the glass did not shatter completely; the crash of falling pieces would have brought Webb and Chegwidden running. As it was, they heard the thump, and Harm heard the Admiral's voice on the other side of the bathroom door.

"Commander, is everything all right in there?"

"Yes, sir, I'm … fine. I'll be out in a moment." Far from fine, Harm struggled to get his rage back under control. Right now, he wanted to be left alone, embarrassed to face the two men who had witnessed his weakness. A new thought crossed his mind, and taking a deep breath, he opened the door and ambled slowly out, rolling the I.V. stand with him.

"You were in there a while, Harm," the Admiral observed.

"Yeah, well," … Harm seemed distracted, shuffling around the room as though he were looking for something. "I just felt the need to clean up … and take inventory," he mumbled.

"Take inventory?" asked Webb, looking confused at Chegwidden, who shrugged his shoulders in return.

"Of my scars," Harm replied matter-of-factly, as he proceeded to open and close cabinet doors and drawers. He moved to the closet door and opened it as well, looking inside.

"Rabb, what are you looking for?" Webb asked.

"Where are my clothes, and my wallet … and everything? You know, for when I go home." Harm looked bewildered, standing in front of the empty closet.

"Ah, Harm, you didn't have anything when you were brought here," Webb answered calmly.

"Huh?" Harm shifted his weight, holding onto the pole, and then visibly sagged, as understanding dawned on him. The master hadn't even bothered to dress him before turning him loose. He hadn't thought about that possibility until this very moment. "Oh. Why should I be surprised?"

"Come on, let's get you back to bed," A.J. said, holding out his arm to the wavering, dejected man. He helped Harm crawl slowly back into the bed.

"Guess that was his one final shot at degrading me," Harm muttered, as he lay back against the pillows. "I shouldn't have expected anything different from him. Everything he did was for maximum humiliation." Chegwidden pulled the sheet up over him and tucked it under his arms, being careful to leave his left arm unobstructed.

"You want the blanket, too?" A.J. asked gently.

"Sure, sir. I can't ever seem to really feel warm." Harm looked extremely worn out, but managed a weak smile. "How did anyone figure out who I was?"

"You were wearing your dog tags," Webb explained.

"Oh, yeah. Right." Harm rubbed his chest through the gown and felt his tags underneath. "Gee, that was fucking big of him. I have no memory of when he put those on me." A few moments of awkward silence passed, as he contemplated the master's small, yet strangely compassionate, final gesture.

"Listen, Rabb, Sarah will be back from West Virginia tomorrow. We'll go over to your place and get you some things, whatever you need," offered Webb.

"No. I don't want you to bother," Harm protested. "It doesn't matter."

"It's no trouble," Webb insisted.

"But, I don't want Mac to come here," Harm whined.

"Hey, that's not up to me. However, at the risk of getting my ass kicked by a Marine, I'll tell her what you said," Webb grinned. "You know damn well, she'll do what she wants to do."

"Don't we all know it," snorted Chegwidden, shaking his head. Harm glanced at the Admiral, then back to Webb, not finding any of this the least bit amusing. He opened his mouth to protest some more, but A.J. cut him off. "No argument about this, Commander."

"Yes, m- … sir." Harm's mouth snapped shut, as he gave up. He hoped no one caught his almost slip of the tongue. He felt tired and didn't have the energy to argue anyway.

"Webb, you've been here for hours," Chegwidden stated, realizing the agent had been at the hospital, not only all afternoon, but well into the evening.

"You're right. I should go. When do-?"

"Take the night off. I'll see you in the morning, or whenever," the Admiral said firmly, his tone leaving no room for questioning.

"All right. Good night, Admiral, Rabb." Webb nodded, turning to take his leave.

"Webb?" Harm called out.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

"Always." On that note, Webb was gone.

Harm was trying to think of a way to get the Admiral to leave, too, when the night-shift nurse entered the room.

"Hello, Mr. Rabb. How are you feeling?"

"Um, okay … a little tired," Harm answered, staring apprehensively at the older, heavy-set woman.

"You were pretty out of it last night. Do you remember me?" she asked with twinkling eyes and a kind smile.

Harm glanced at her nametag. "Sheila," he said.

"Ah-h-h, you peeked," Sheila laughed. "That's all right. I just have to take some blood. Dr. Carrington will want to check the lab work and examine you first thing in the morning. I brought your bedtime snack and your medication. Then it's nighty-night for you, young man."

Harm smirked, as she placed another nutritional shake and a tiny paper cup with a pill in it in front of him. He hadn't been called a young man in some time, at least not that he could recall. While she prepared to take the blood sample, he picked up the pill cup and looked inside.

"What is this?" asked Harm, lifting his head and pushing himself back up to a sitting position.

"That's the lorazepam Dr. Parnell ordered. It's a mild tranquilizer. Since you'll probably be off the intravenous fluids in the morning, they've been weaning you from the sedatives. This should help with the transition, and allow you to get some sleep." Sheila finished getting what she needed for the lab.

"Sleep sounds good," Harm sighed. He popped the tablet into his mouth like a good patient, and gulped down some water. He then made quick work of the canned liquid meal; anything was better than the empty, hollow feeling in his gut that he had experienced far too often.

Sheila smiled at Harm. "I'll bet they'll be starting you on some soft foods tomorrow. Think you can handle that?"

"I guess we'll find out." Harm made a pathetic attempt at a grin. After a few more sips of water, he placed the cup nearby and flopped back into the pillows, settling down under the covers.

"If you need anything at all during the night, you know how to buzz the desk, Mr. Rabb. Good night and get some rest," Sheila said, as she headed toward the door. Both Harm and A.J. bade her a good night as well.

"You really don't have to stay, sir," Harm said, hesitantly, hoping the Admiral would go home. He hadn't been alone since first waking up in the hospital, and he actually felt worn out by all the hovering attention. Now, he just wanted to try being by himself in order to shut out the world for a little while.

"Nonsense, I don't mind," Chegwidden replied in his firm, authoritative tone. He expected Harm to put up an argument, and was a bit surprised when he didn't. Settling back in the chair, he refrained from making any small talk, and simply let his mind wander.

Harm merely sighed and closed his eyes. He would just have to try to ignore the Admiral's distracting presence and the awkward silence that permeated the dimly lit room. After nearly thirty minutes of restlessly shifting about, he opened his eyes and looked at his commanding officer, who appeared to be deep in thought. The medication had succeeded in taking the edge off Harm's anxiety, but he was unable to relax enough to fall asleep. Too many thoughts and memories swirled through his mind for him to find relief. He wished that he could just block it all out, to be numb for at least a few hours. Harm let out a deep sigh.

"Admiral?"

"Yeah, Harm."

"I can't sleep with you watching me, sir. Please go home," Harm implored.

A.J. stared at him for a long minute. He began to wonder if he was being too overprotective. Perhaps it was time to give the traumatized man a little space. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be fine." Harm assured him. "I've got the call button right here, and it's after visiting hours, so I don't think we need to worry about anyone getting in." Harm managed to sound quite convincing. "I just really need to sleep."

"All right, then," Chegwidden conceded. "But I'm going to alert the nursing station AND security on my way out, to make sure they keep an eye on you."

"Okay," Harm murmured, tiredly.

"I'll be back, first thing in the morning, Commander. You try and get some rest now."

"Thank you, sir. Good night." Harm waited for a few minutes after the Admiral had departed, then pressed the call button. Sheila appeared momentarily.

"I'm having trouble getting to sleep," Harm explained to the nurse. "Any chance I could get something a little stronger?"

"Hmmm, let me go see what we can do to help. I'll have to check with the doctor on call first."

"I'm not going anywhere," joked Harm.

By the time Sheila returned, Harm's thoughts had quieted just a bit more, but he was still awake. He had tried, but just couldn't seem to numb himself enough. Though he hated the idea of possibly becoming dependent on medication, he resigned himself to needing help for now. After being given another small dose of lorazepam, Harm eventually relaxed in a soft haze, hoping that his drug-induced sleep would be free of nightmares. Finally, he drifted off into a deep slumber.

***

By the time morning rolled around, Harm felt anything but well rested. Although he only vaguely remembered waking up a few times throughout the night, he had had several terrifying dreams, which left him shaken and on edge. He also recalled Sheila's presence on more than one occasion, checking on him. Each time, the tranquilizer's effects made him drowsy enough to fall back to sleep for a while. Finally, in the early morning hours, he became too restless, so he got up, stretched, and navigated his way to and from the bathroom. Although still groggy, he was unable to sleep any longer. Harm tried his best to empty his mind of the nearly constant replays of his seven-week ordeal, and to focus on the day ahead. That proved to be impossible to achieve; each time he closed his eyes, he saw his master's face, and he heard his voice in his mind.

Harm also realized in the silent, semi-dark room that he felt terribly alone. Yet, at the same time, he felt guilty about the way Chegwidden and Webb had kept vigil and fussed over him. He had found their actions to be the most unexpected and confusing thing of all. At least, he hadn't had to face Mac yet. Even though she did not know what they knew, Harm had been relieved to learn that she was out of town. He had a feeling, however, that she would not stay away for much longer. Even if she no longer cared about him as anything more than a colleague, she would want to see for herself how he was doing.

Dr. Carrington was on duty that morning, and had scheduled Commander Rabb, his first patient of the day, for a thorough examination. He made sure to allow plenty of time; he had a feeling it would be needed. After checking over the Commander's chart, the doctor brought a nurse into the room with him to assist. He discussed a few medical issues with Harm, asking questions, as well as answering Harm's concerns. While they talked, the nurse removed Harm's I.V. line, as well as the bandages around his wrists and ankles. She had Harm sit up and lean forward, in order to undo the back of his gown so that the doctor could examine his back. She then also removed the sheet and light blanket from Harm's legs for the doctor to address his residual knee pain.

"The scarring should fade some with time," the doctor commented, as he checked Harm over thoroughly. "Let's wait and see. We can discuss what options are available at a later time." Harm merely nodded in response, rubbing at his wrists and scrutinizing the bandage the nurse had placed over the wound the I.V. needle had left. "Your lab results look good. No signs of infections and you're well hydrated."

"When can I go home?" Harm asked bluntly.

"Well, we need to build up your strength. I hope to get you started on a bland, soft food diet today. Once you are able to tolerate solid food and regular bowel function is restored, then and only then, will I sign the discharge papers," Carrington explained. Harm looked frustrated, but said nothing.

"How are you feeling otherwise, Commander?"

"I guess I'm hanging in there, considering," Harm replied carefully. He did not want to let on how close to the edge he felt, how afraid he was. He wasn't about to risk admitting to anything that might delay his release from the hospital. He was determined to deal with his fears on his own.

"Well, you seem to have some strong emotional support, and that's good," the doctor said, referring to the Admiral and Special Agent Webb. "I understand that your mother is flying in today."

"Uh-huh. Um, could I have my wrists wrapped up a while longer? I don't want my mom to see these scars," Harm said hesitantly.

"Sure. The nurse will see to it in a bit." Carrington addressed the nurse. "Brenda, let's get a couple of beige ace bandages, less conspicuous. Just wrap them loosely."

"Thanks," said Harm.

"After Dr. Carrington is finished, I'll make sure your breakfast is delivered, and then I'll come get you freshened up and ready for your mom's visit, okay?" Brenda smiled at Harm.

"Okay."

Brenda had everything the doctor needed ready for him on the counter. She pulled the privacy curtain closed around the foot of Harm's bed, separating them from the door and the other half of the room, and then moved away behind the curtain.

"Mr. Rabb, I'm going to need to perform a rectal exam to see how you're healing inside. I realize it may be a little uncomfortable, but I'll explain every step before I proceed. Just try to focus on my instructions, all right?"

Harm nodded mutely, his anxiety level shooting sky high. He tried to regulate his breathing, as he began to tremble with dread.

"I'll need for you to lie on your left side, Mr. Rabb, and then bring your knees forward, towards your chest," Carrington explained, as he completed his preparations. He usually preferred his patients to stand for this type of exam, leaning over an exam table for support. However, that worked only for those who were strong and healthy, and the Commander's sense of balance was not yet to be trusted. He also did not wish to put any more stress on this patient than absolutely necessary.

Harm obediently situated himself as instructed. His breath was becoming shallow and rapid, and he was trying to will himself not to panic. He kept telling himself, 'I can do this. It can't be as bad as the things *he* did to me. I can do this.' Harm was trying not to think about the horrors he had endured at the hands of his master, but he was not succeeding.

"Now, just pull the gown up to your waist for me," Carrington said. Harm did so, squeezing his eyes shut, attempting to focus solely on the doctor's voice. "I'm placing my hand on your hip for a moment," Carrington forewarned Harm, in an attempt to prepare him. He noticed that Harm flinched anyway. "Breathe normally and try to relax. This may feel a little bit cold or uncomfortable."

Harm felt the metal speculum touch against his anus.

Clayton Webb walked down the hallway to find A.J. Chegwidden waiting outside of Harm's room.

"Good morning, Admiral," Webb said, glancing at the 'examination in progress' sign on the closed door. "Been out here long? How's Rabb?"

"Morning, Webb. I just got here a few minutes ago. I understand Carrington is in with him now." Chegwidden was dressed in casual civilian attire, his parka slung over his arm. It was, after all, a cold Saturday morning in January.

"Didn't you spend the night here?" Webb asked, although he already knew the answer. He took off his long, trench-style overcoat.

"No, obviously I didn't," Chegwidden stated. "Rabb was having trouble sleeping and convinced me he wanted me to leave, so I went home. The night was uneventful and he's been resting comfortably, so I'm told."

Webb was about to respond to that information when suddenly, both men heard a commotion coming from inside of the Commander's room. Alarmed, they glanced at each other briefly, and listened intently at the door. Though muffled, they could hear Rabb's raised voice.

"No, no, no-o-o-o-o!" Harm yelled, followed by an incoherent howl, not of pain, but rather of abject terror. Next, they heard the calming voice of Dr. Carrington, but they could not make out what he was saying.

"What the hell is going on in there?" Webb demanded, his hand on the doorknob, ready to barge in.

"Wait," Chegwidden stopped him, his hand pulling on Webb's arm. The voices inside were quieter now. "I'm sure the doctor has everything under control."

"You don't sound any more confident than I feel," Webb snorted, looking grim.

"I suppose it does sound like he has his hands full with this particular patient," the Admiral mused with a frustrated sigh. "Damn."

There was really no choice but to wait, their patience wearing thin.

Inside, Dr. Carrington had finally finished his examinations. It had taken even longer than he expected. "I have good news, Commander. The surgeon did an excellent job. You're healing beautifully, the sphincter muscles are reacting normally, and I'm not seeing any infection or other problems. I fully expect a complete recovery. Now, I do really want to see you try to eat something this morning."

"Okay." Harm stared blankly at the window. He was still lying on his left side, covered by a sheet. The doctor came around in front of him and peered into his dull eyes.

"How do you feel right now?" he asked gently.

"Kind of embarrassed," Harm replied numbly. "Sorry I … um … freaked out."

"Don't be. You had a panic attack, which is a normal, expected reaction to an abnormal, traumatic event," Carrington explained. "You may even feel like you're going crazy, but I assure you, you're not. However, there is no need to suffer such extreme stress symptoms; that's why I sedated you."

"Oh. Okay," Harm murmured, feeling drowsily relaxed. He wasn't sure if he entirely understood, but it sounded like a reasonable explanation to him at the moment. "Where is Clayton Webb? Is he here?"

"I don't know. I can check. Are you sure you're up to visitors?"

"Only Clay," Harm mumbled.

"Your nurse will be back shortly and I'll check in on you later, Commander," Carrington said, as he departed.

The nurse had hurried out moments before, heading quickly down the corridor before she could be questioned, and then Dr. Carrington finally stepped out.

"Admiral, Mr. Webb," he nodded at each concerned face in turn, knowing they must have heard the earlier ruckus.

"How is Commander Rabb?" Chegwidden asked impatiently, as the doctor steeled himself to answer the stern looking Admiral.

"Better, now," he replied. "Unfortunately, Mr. Rabb had a severe flashback episode during the course of my exam. I had no choice but to give him an injection in order to calm him down. He'll be groggy for the next several hours and needs his rest."

"I want to see for myself," Chegwidden said insistently.

"I'm sorry," Carrington said, standing in front of the door, blocking the Admiral's path. "The Commander is a bit overwhelmed, so I'm restricting visitors to one at a time for now." He turned to gaze at the shorter man. "He's been asking for you, Mr. Webb."

"Me? Really?" Webb looked surprised.

"That's all right, Webb. I'll catch up with you later. I need to discuss those theories we talked about with the doctor anyway." He looked pointedly at Carrington. "We have questions and concerns regarding Commander Rabb's care."

"Walk with me to my office, Admiral?" Carrington offered. They proceeded down the hall while Webb slipped into Harm's room.

"Hey, Rabb," Webb announced, as he gazed at the still figure lying in the bed with his back to the door. There was no answer. "Harm?" He came around the bed to look at Harm's face, and thought he saw a single tear in the corner of his eye.

Harm's eyes were open, though unfocused in the general direction of the window. Suddenly, he blinked, as if he just noticed Webb's presence, but he remained silent.

"You all right?" Webb asked, sitting down in front of him. Harm shrugged, then slowly rolled onto his back. Webb noticed how lethargic Harm appeared to be. "What happened?"

"I dunno. I … I kind of lost it," Harm sighed. He still wouldn't make eye contact with Webb.

Webb wasn't sure what to say. All he knew was that he didn't want to embarrass Rabb any further. "Try not to worry about it, Rabb. Hey, you look pretty tired."

Harm gave him a confused look. "More like doped up, Webb."

"Did I say there was anything wrong with that?" Clay grinned, causing Harm to respond with a lopsided smirk.

The door swung open, and a member of the dietary staff breezed in with a breakfast tray, set it on the table in front of Harm, exchanged pleasantries, and left to go onto the next room. Harm pulled himself up to a sitting position, letting out a grunt in the process.

"Can I do anything to help?" asked Webb, as he watched Harm struggle.

"Uh … maybe shove the pillows against my back," he replied, reaching forward for the table. He pulled, and the table rolled easily into position over his lap. Clay finished his adjustments and moved away.

Harm realized that he was actually hungry, as he perused the contents on the tray. Around a covered bowl, there was a glass of orange juice, a banana, and the ubiquitous can of high protein drink that always seemed to magically appear every three or so hours. He carefully lifted the lid off, which was still warm to the touch.

"Ugh, oatmeal?" Clay said with disgust, making a face. "How can they expect you to eat that stuff?"

"Nothing wrong with oatmeal, Webb. It's good for you," Harm retorted, digging into the warm mush with gusto. He thought about slicing the banana into the mix, but decided it was too much effort. He'd save it for after.

"Oh, that's right, I almost forgot. You're one of those grains and veggies people," Webb said sardonically. "I suppose if you were lost in the woods, you'd survive on nuts and berries, … and … leaves, for all I know."

"Uh-huh," Harm said between mouthfuls.

"Good grief, I can't even watch you eat that." Webb walked away to gaze out of the window. He smiled inwardly, encouraged to see that Rabb had an appetite and was making a conscious effort to regain his strength. Glancing towards him, Webb suddenly realized that Harm was no longer hooked up to the I.V. fluids.

"You know, A.J. is around here somewhere, too," Webb mentioned matter-of-factly. "He's concerned about you, but your doctor wouldn't let him see you. Don't you want to put his mind at ease?"

"Maybe later," Harm mumbled. He peeled the banana, then took a bite. The oatmeal and the Ensure shake were already gone. Harm didn't want to let on that at times he even felt uncomfortable around his Commanding Officer. He couldn't put his finger on it, but just couldn't shake the uneasy feelings. Fortunately, Webb did not press him on the matter, leaving him alone to finish his meal in peace, which didn't take long.

"Wow. I cannot believe you finished everything," Webb said, peering at the tray with its empty bowl, empty glass, empty can, and a banana peel.

"I told you. I was hungry," Harm murmured innocently. He failed to mention that he had been so used to taking what nourishment he could get, and forced to make quick work of it, that it was now a habit he would need to break.

"When the young lady said 'try to do the best you can', I believe she fully expected that you wouldn't eat it all," Webb joked.

Sighing, Harm pushed the table away from him, threw the sheet off, and slowly slid himself to the edge of the bed. Webb watched, frowning, as Harm seemed to contemplate standing up.

"Clay, I think I might need some help here," Harm said, looking for something to lean on. "I had been using that pole as a crutch of sorts, for balance, and now it's gone."

Webb moved next to him and held out his arm. "Here, grab a hold of my arm. Where are we going?"

"I gotta piss and I need to practice walking back and forth. Don't want the nurses to think I can't do this on my own." Harm stood up slowly, feeling wobbly.

"Please, tell me you only need my help getting *to* the bathroom," Webb teased.

"Oh, very funny, Webb. Just make sure I don't fall over." Harm's hospital gown had not gotten refastened after the top half had been opened earlier for the doctor to examine his back. Now, it kept slipping off Harm's shoulder as he moved.

"Wait. Let me fix this. You're all discombobulated here." Harm stopped, allowing Webb to fasten the neck of the gown back together. "Quit moving, Harm."

"I'm not moving, the room is moving," retorted Harm, as he listed slightly to the left.

"Yeah, right," Webb snorted. "There. That's better." He patted Harm's shoulder.

"Thanks, Clay. Wouldn't want to accidentally moon anybody," Harm snickered with amusement.

"Trust me. NO-body wants to see your ass," Webb remarked facetiously.

Harm chuckled louder at Clay's teasing. "Since when does anybody trust you? You're a spook!"

"That's right. You should know better than to trust a damn spook, Rabb."

"Hmmm, I should … but apparently I don't." Harm was smiling as he disappeared into the small restroom.

The drugs had to be what was making Harm act so goofy, Clay thought to himself, though he had to admit the banter between them was kind of nice. He had missed that, having enjoyed it when they had occasionally worked together, and that seemed like such a long time ago. Harm was the closest thing to a friend that Clay had ever had. Now, he wondered whether it was Harm or him that needed that friendship more. Clay also realized that Harm had shuffled across the room pretty much on his own power, with only his hand resting lightly on Clay's shoulder, more for reassurance than actual physical support. Still, it must have been difficult for Harm to ask for his assistance. Clay found himself pondering the many changes in Harmon Rabb. He was troubled by one in particular: Harm's complete and utter loss of self-confidence.

When the bathroom door opened, Webb moved toward Harm, but Harm waved him off. He made his way back to the bed by walking around the edge of the room, keeping his hand out, touching the wall as he went. By this point, he was feeling fairly light-headed, and he crawled into bed with relief. He curled up on his right side, his back to the window, trying to pull the sheet up over himself.

Observing Harm carefully, Webb could see a shiver pass through him. "Are you cold?" he asked gently.

"A little," came the soft-spoken answer. Harm's anxiety attack earlier had left him damp with perspiration, but now he felt clammy as well as worn out. "So sleepy …" he added.

Clay sorted through the two blankets rumpled at Harm's feet, straightening them out over Harm's body. He smoothed the covers up over Harm's shoulder, tucking them close against both his chest and back.

"How's that?" asked Webb.

"Mmmff," Harm grunted.

Webb smirked and shook his head.

Moments later, one of the nurses entered, carrying a bath pack. She greeted Webb cheerily and announced it was bath time, giving Webb the cue to leave for a short while.

"He's kind of out of it," Webb stated, as he headed for the door.

"I know. I can handle it," Brenda assured him with a kind smile.

Webb decided to take a walk outside and check his cell phone for messages.

Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. was one of Brenda's favorite patients. He tried really hard to be a good patient, so cooperative, and he never complained. In him, she saw a survivor, with a quiet strength that he himself probably didn't realize he had. He was also decidedly easy on the eyes, as all the nurses would attest to. The thing Brenda noticed most, however, was his intense, piercing eyes. She had seen too much pain and suffering over her many years of experience, but the sadness and fear in that man's eyes spoke volumes. She couldn't begin to imagine what horrors he had endured.

Although the nursing staff had access to his medical chart, they were under strict orders not to gossip, speculate, or even discuss anything about him. Brenda knew he wasn't married, and found it hard to believe there wasn't a special woman in his life to come visit and comfort him. For the past two days, she had seen only those same two men spending a lot of time with the Commander.

Brenda, with her keen observation skills, considered Commander Rabb to be deserving of extra special care. He had gone through a lot, whatever it was. She had noticed how he tensed up whenever someone new and different approached him, becoming nervous and uncomfortable, especially around men. He had become somewhat accustomed to the regular shift of nurses. Therefore, Brenda made the extra time in her busy schedule to see to him personally, rather than pass him off to a nurse's aide.

"Okay, Mr. Rabb, same routine as yesterday morning," she smiled at him. He was in a similar state as he had been the previous morning, awake, but not alert enough to handle the thorough cleansing routine on his own. While he was still lying on his side, she pulled down the covers just enough to open up the back of his gown. Once she got him to roll onto his back, she whisked it off of his body, leaving him modestly covered with the sheet.

Brenda methodically washed, then dried Harm, starting with his face and neck. Uncovering one limb at a time, she bathed his arms and legs next, covering him back up as she finished each area. Feeling how cold his feet were, she made a mental note to herself to get him a pair of soft, sock-like booties. While she worked, she chatted about mundane subjects, such as breakfast, to keep him distracted. It was a one-side conversation, however. Harm's eyes were closed and he did not talk at all. She folded the sheet back to just below his waist and quickly bathed his upper torso.

Brenda watched Harm's expression carefully, but he didn't seem to mind her efficient, yet gentle ministrations. In fact, he even seemed to nod off for a few brief moments at a time. He only flinched slightly whenever she moved to a new part of him, when her touch was unexpected. He kept his eyes squeezed shut as she moved lower, reaching under the sheet, to cleanse the lower abdominal and groin areas. It was sometimes known to happen that male patients could get aroused from being handled in this way, the worst being the level of embarrassment on the patient's part. For the nurses, it was all just part of the job, and they learned to ignore it and move on as though the situation never occurred. The majority of patients were usually either too sick or in too much pain to even concern themselves with such a thought. Much to Brenda's relief, there was absolutely no reaction. Little did she know that Harm had zoned out briefly, reliving the time when his master had bathed him, as he hung helplessly bound and suspended from the sling. She pulled the sheet back up, noticing then that Harm was trembling.

"Time to do your back, Mr. Rabb," Brenda said, patting Harm's shoulder. "Can you turn onto your stomach for me?" There was no response. "Mr. Rabb?"

Harm's eyes flew open then, as Brenda's voice brought him back to the present. He blinked, staring at her with a vacant expression.

"We're almost done here, Mr. Rabb. I just need to do your back."

"Okay." Harm finally understood, and slowly rolled over towards her, ending up near the edge of the bed where she could reach him more easily. He cradled his head into his folded arms, as Brenda proceeded to fold the sheet back again. Gently, she washed his scarred buttocks, then carefully patted him dry with a towel. After covering him up to his waist, she washed his back. Now, she took her time, tenderly massaging the newly healed skin. Harm relaxed under her expert hands, and groaned softly when she finished. Brenda firmly rubbed his entire back down with a dry towel, remembering that this was his favorite part from yesterday. She indulged him for just a few minutes, and then stopped, thinking he had fallen asleep.

"That's it, Mr. Rabb, all done. Feel better?"

"Uh-huh," Harm mumbled, contentedly.

"Just a few more minutes, then you can take a nice nap, I promise," Brenda informed him. "Can you sit up for me?"

Harm hesitated slightly, then rolled back over onto his back and sat up, aware that other than the sheet covering his lap, he was naked. Brenda unfolded a fresh, new hospital gown.

"Arms out in front of you," she instructed. Harm complied and she slipped the gown onto him, pulling it around to the back. "Okay, lean forward." Harm did so, and she deftly fastened the back edges together, starting at the neckline and working her way down to his tailbone.

"There," announced Brenda. She moved around to peer into Harm's slightly glassy eyes. "I need to change the bedding, which is easier if I can put you in a chair. It's all right if you're not up to it, though."

"No. I mean, it's okay. I can manage that," Harm said, giving her a half-hearted smile. He slid to the edge, putting his feet on the floor. Brenda grabbed a hold of his upper arm and guided him the few steps needed, gingerly depositing him in the chair by the window, where the winter sun was shining in.

"Do you need to make a trip to the facilities?" she asked.

"Nope." Harm smiled again. "Did that just before you arrived." He watched her, as she rapidly stripped the bed, then he gazed out of the window, sipping from his water cup and drifting in a foggy haze. Brenda was finished before Harm realized any time had passed at all. The bed was smooth and clean, the pillows were plumped, and the room was nice and warm. Harm felt clean and fresh, though groggy, and he eagerly lay back against the pillows. After one more drink of water, he let Brenda tuck the covers around him, and he immediately closed his eyes. She quietly gathered her things to slip out of the room.

"Thank you, Brenda," she heard his voice behind her, as she pulled the door open.

"You're welcome, Mr. Rabb," he heard her answer, as she exited, leaving him alone in the peace and quiet of his room. Harm had fought the sedative for as long as he could. Now, he was ready to give himself over to it, to let it take him into oblivion for at least a while. Within a minute, he was sound asleep.

***

A short while later, Admiral Chegwidden slipped silently into the room to check on the Commander, as Harm slept. Nearly an hour after that, Clayton Webb returned to find the Admiral sitting near the bed, keeping vigil while Harm slept. They stepped out into the hall in order to talk to each other. Eventually, Webb came back in and sat down to watch Harm sleep. Then, Brenda came by to check in on Harm, and still he slept. After she left, Chegwidden sneaked back in, settling in the other chair. Together, they waited for Harm to come around on his own.

Finally, Harm was roused to a state of awareness, but only because lunch was brought. He would have slept through that, too, if he had been allowed to.

"You're back," Harm stated softly, blinking as he focused on Clay sitting there next to him.

"Yes, I'm here, Rabb, waiting for you to come out of hibernation," Webb chuckled.

Something felt different to Harm as he moved his legs, and he peeked under the covers. "I've got some kind of socks. When did that happen?"

"A certain nurse named Brenda would be responsible for that," Webb grinned. "She came and checked on you when you were zonked; said something about you having the world's coldest feet."

"Ah. What time is it, anyway?" Harm asked.

"Nearly thirteen hundred hours," Chegwidden spoke up.

Harm jumped and turned his head, not having noticed the Admiral sitting on the other side of the bed. He maneuvered himself into an upright position to receive his meal tray.

"What's this I hear about you giving the doctor a hard time this morning?" Chegwidden questioned with a teasing smirk.

"I … I didn't m-mean to," Harm stammered and froze, his eyes as round as saucers. "I'm sorry, sir."

Webb jumped up from his seat. "It's okay, Harm. He's kidding. Right, Admiral?" Clay threw A.J. an angry glare, then rolled the table with Harm's lunch tray in front of him in order to refocus his attention on eating.

"Oh. Of course, bad joke," he said, realizing Harm's apprehension. He abruptly changed the subject. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, Commander."

"Still kind of tired, I guess," Harm admitted, poking around and inspecting the contents of the tray. "Sure hope it wears off by the time my mom gets here. I need to get myself together."

"Don't worry, there's still time. Your mother's plane doesn't land until fifteen-fifty. I'll be picking her up from the airport, personally," Chegwidden explained.

Harm looked surprised. "That's very kind of you, sir. Thank you. I'm sure she will appreciate it, as well." Harm appeared more settled now, as he put a spoonful of chicken vegetable soup in his mouth. It was a bit on the bland side, but contained copious amounts of rice, which would help fill him up.

"That's all right, Commander. I'm sure she'll just be relieved to see you up and about." A.J. had felt helpless throughout Harm's ordeal, and he figured it was the least he could do to be of some use. When Harm didn't respond, he got a vague feeling that Harm was trying not to show stress regarding his mother's visit, appearing single-mindedly focused on his meal.

"Well, I'll be heading out, then. I'll see you both later." As the Admiral stood to take his leave, he and Webb exchanged meaningful glances, which went unnoticed by Harm.

Webb waited until Harm had pretty much finished everything that was on his tray. "Rabb, we need to talk."

"What about?" Harm looked up, questioning. Webb looked so serious.

"I have to leave," he said without preamble.

"Um, okay. I'll be all right," Harm said quietly.

"No, I mean, leave the country … on a mission … tomorrow." Webb gazed at Harm intently.

"Oh. I understand. After all, it's your duty," Harm stated, nonchalantly. "You've already gone above and beyond the call here. You don't have to baby-sit me." He gave Clay a small, nervous laugh, and Clay realized Harm's embarrassment instantly.

Clay shook his head. "I don't know how long I'll be gone – hopefully, for only a few days. Now, I know your mother will be here to spend time with you, but the Admiral could use more reinforcements. You know, to keep an eye on … things." He paused, expecting Harm to interject at this point, but Harm remained silent, waiting for him to continue. Webb found that to be a bit disconcerting.

"I want you to know that I've had your apartment under surveillance for weeks, and nothing out of the ordinary has been reported. Yesterday, I had a state of the art security system installed there, as well. You may or may not be out of the hospital before I return, but we want you to feel safe, at least in your loft. I'll make sure you understand how to operate everything. If I'm not back in time, then Sarah can show you, she'll know the system, too." Webb stopped and took a breath, taking in Harm's dumbfounded expression. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"Wow. You did all that for me?" Harm was overwhelmed. "I don't know what to say."

"Hey, it's no big deal," Webb shrugged. He hoped, if nothing else, that it would help Harm to feel more secure in his own home. He had not yet removed the hidden camera he had placed in Harm's living room, but he decided to wait and see. He was the only person who knew it was there, and he planned to keep it that way. The other surveillance equipment that he had set up outside, monitoring the entrance to the building and in the hall leading to Harm's apartment door, did not concern him. He would even show Harm when the opportunity presented itself.

Harm sighed. "It just hit me that I don't even know where to begin trying to put my life back together. I haven't thought beyond leaving this hospital. Apparently, I still have a vehicle and an apartment to come home to, but I have to get a new I.D. card, driver's license, keys, cell phone, wallet, everything." He seemed overwhelmed by all that faced him.

"Take it one step at a time and try not to worry," Webb said. "You have Mac to thank for taking care of your mail, bills, and keeping you from going bankrupt."

"I owe you both a lot," Harm said thoughtfully. Even though he was grateful that people cared and wanted to help him, he still hated feeling dependent, even lost.

"Speaking of Sarah – " Webb steered the subject, treading carefully.

"I'd rather not," Harm jumped in, cutting him off. It was too difficult to think about Mac, and he didn't want to deal with it.

"You need to know some things," Webb persisted. "I spoke with Sarah this morning. She's back in town and I don't know how long I can keep her away. She wants to see for herself that you are all right, but I told her to wait until after you had spent some time with your mother. It was the only thing I could think of to stall her from coming straight over here."

"Well, I'm far from all right, but she doesn't need to know that. I'm not up for more visitors yet, but I suppose she would get suspicious if I avoided her for too much longer."

"Mmm-hmm. Good point," Webb nodded.

"On the other hand, I don't want to put her in danger," Harm fretted.

"She understands the risks and we've been taking every precaution," Webb countered. "There has been no indications whatsoever that your abductor has made his presence known. Of course, it would help if we knew what he looked like, who to watch out for."

"Talk about a catch twenty two," Harm responded stubbornly. "I can only feel somewhat assured of our safety if I *don't* tell."

"It's possible that he really did let you go, Rabb. Maybe he just used those threats to keep you in line or to keep you from trying to escape."

"I'm not willing to take any chances, Webb," Harm said, shaking his head. "You weren't there, you don't know what he was like."

"I've known evil minds like his, though," Webb argued. "And I know that he brain-washed you."

Harm's piercing eyes bore through Clay, his face a combination of anger and hurt. "I'm not discussing this subject any further." He pushed the wheeled table away, folded his arms across his chest, and hung his head.

"There's something else that you should know," Webb persisted, in an attempt to bring the topic back to one Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie. "For weeks, Sarah worried herself sick over your disappearance … literally."

Harm's head snapped back up. "Is Mac all right?" His voice wavered with concern.

"Better, now that she knows you're alive, though she never gave up hope. I think the stress had finally taken its toll when the Admiral made her take a few days off. That's why she's been out of town, I suppose, for some much needed 'R and R'," Webb smirked.

Harm's expression was forlorn. "I'm sorry for worrying everyone. There were times in my captivity that I felt so hopeless, I actually believed that nobody wondered where I was or what had happened to me." His trembling made his voice even shakier and he stopped to take a deep breath. "I really thought that I wouldn't get out of there alive, that I 'd never see any of you again."

"Don't, Harm," Clay said gently. "There are a lot of people who care about you. Just know that not a day went by that we all didn't think about you, worry about you, hoping beyond hope that you weren't dead, yet trying to prepare for the worst. You were never forgotten."

"Thanks, Clay, I needed that." Harm was grateful for the pep talk, and he felt a little less alone.

After a moment's hesitation, Clay reached out slowly and put his hand on Harm's forearm, giving him a reassuring pat. He felt Harm relax under his hand, relieved that this time the traumatized man didn't flinch from his touch. Of course, it helped that Harm was watching him and saw the movement coming.

Harm's eyes were moist with emotion, and he broke the eye contact first. He leaned back, sprawling against the raised bed and pillows. Webb's hand released him, as he leaned back in his chair.

"So, Mac was pretty stressed out, huh?" Harm asked, his eyes still shining too brightly.

"Worn out, I'd say. She hadn't been sleeping well in a really long time, since – well, since Paraguay. She still had nightmares about the experiences we shared there. Then, right after you disappeared, she started having some of those vivid dreams or visions – I don't know what to call them – about you. She was so frustrated that she couldn’t figure out where you were, but what she did describe was truly eerie." Clay watched Harm's eyes grow wider. "Shit. I shouldn't be talking to you about this. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Webb. It's good that you told me," Harm responded quickly. He wondered briefly what it was that Mac had seen, but decided it might be better if he didn't know. He hated that she had been so affected, and yet it made him realize that she still cared what happened to him. "I don't want Mac to feel any guilt over not finding me. After all, she had already saved my hide once before. I sure as hell couldn't expect a second miracle. Maybe now she can move on."

"I'm not so sure about that," Webb said cryptically. He had admitted to himself that his relationship with Sarah might never go beyond friendship. As much as he wished for more, he knew her feelings for Rabb would always be between them.

"Why not?" Harm sounded genuinely clueless, and it occurred to Webb that the confused man assumed that they were indeed involved. However, he was not about to get into this particular discussion at this time.

"That's something you'd have to ask her, Rabb," Webb said pointedly, looking away. He got up abruptly then and went to the window, standing there with his hands in his pockets. He expected Rabb to persist, question, something in response, but Harm said nothing. Feeling Harm's eyes on him, the silence became awkward. Webb glanced down at his watch. Now was not the time to be having this conversation. Rabb was still in shock, his situation too raw and overwhelming to think clearly. Eventually, Mac and Harm would have to talk, after he had a chance to get a handle on his recovery.

Webb glanced over to Rabb, who was awfully quiet and appeared distracted. "Harm?"

Never mind distracted, Webb thought, the man looked downright sad. "You okay?"

"I, uh, just realized something," Harm replied, tentatively. His expression was somber and he kept his eyes downcast.

Webb crossed back over to Harm's bed, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, Webb pressed further. "So, do you want to share?"

"It's no big deal," Harm sighed. "I was thinking that my mom would be here soon, and that made me think about my father. I thought about him a lot when I thought I might not survive that place." He paused briefly as a sudden shudder passed through him. "I know I was released on New Year's Day. So, not only did I lose seven weeks, I missed Thanksgiving and Christmas. I missed my Christmas Eve visit to The Wall. Damn it." Harm chewed on his lower lip to keep it from quivering. His cruel captor had taken so much from him.

"Aw jeez, Harm, I know," Webb said sympathetically, perching on the edge of the bed. "We went in your place."

"What?" Harm finally met Clay's eyes, searching for comprehension.

"Christmas Eve, after the evening service, we all went to pay our respects at The Wall," Webb explained. "A whole group from JAG and I went because you couldn't be there. It was Sarah's idea."

"Really?" Harm visibly struggled to choke back the emotions that were threatening to spill over. "Who all was there? I'd like to hear about it."

"Well, we had to go in several vehicles, quite the processional," Clay smiled. He felt as though he was telling a bedtime story, watching Harm's face perk up, eyes shining as he lay with his head nestled in the pillows. "Besides Sarah and myself, of course, the Admiral and Meredith, Commander Turner, the Roberts', and several of the enlisted staff members, too. Oh, except for Petty Officer Coates, but that was because she offered to baby-sit the children so that Bud and Harriet could both go."

"That was nice of her," Harm commented. "I can't get over what you all did. It means a lot to me."

Webb shrugged. "I couldn't think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve. I'm sure your father would have understood. After you get out of here and as soon as you feel up to it, I'll take you there. Deal?"

"Deal," Harm murmured.

"Once your mother gets here, I'm supposed to go meet Sarah for dinner, then I have some things to do before I leave in the morning," Webb said nonchalantly, in an effort to change the subject back to more neutral ground.

"Uh, you don't have to wait," Harm said, stifling a yawn. "Why don't you take off now? I need to close my eyes for a little while anyway." He was quite aware that Webb apparently hadn't seen Mac in several days, and was probably anxious to spend time with her before having to leave the country. Although Harm had no way of knowing just how involved they were, he did not want to get in the way, feeling that he had no right to.

"You do look tired, Rabb. Get some rest and I'll check in with you later, okay?"

"Okay. And tell Mac to stop worrying," Rabb smirked.

"Yeah, right. That'll happen," Webb retorted, shaking his head. "If nothing else, I've learned never to presume to tell her what to do. Chegwidden is the only person who can give her orders and expect them to be followed."

That remark actually made Harm smile briefly, and after Webb left, he closed his eyes. He was tired of feeling emotionally drained all the time. He was holding on, trying to maintain the thin veneer of control, pushing down the near constant fear and vague feelings of impending doom. 'I have to do this … hang on … just a little while longer,' he thought. Anger was the most difficult feeling to cope with. Every time it threatened to overpower him, he stuffed it down deep inside. He felt trapped, unable to get away from all the darkness in his mind. It was exhausting, and he wondered if he'd ever feel normal again. He didn't know how long he could keep up the charade, but he was determined to try. Harm chanted his mantra in his mind until he drifted off. 'I bide my time, I bide my time … I … bide … my … time …'

***

Commander Rabb was not aware of how much time passed by, dozing intermittently, fitfully. The small overhead television was on, set at a low volume. He had tried to watch an all news station, in an attempt to catch up on all that was going on in the world while he was imprisoned, but most of it didn't register. He found himself unable to concentrate; his thoughts kept wandering to places he did not want to go. Finally, Harm had given up and closed his eyes.

Harm was caught up in one of his many nightmares, this time reliving the agony of that last terrible night in the dank, windowless cellar, and therefore, completely unaware of the door to his room being opened.

Admiral Chegwidden entered quietly, quickly scanned the room, and determined that Rabb was alone. He moved aside, motioning to Trish Burnett, and she stepped in past him. They had come straight from the airport, as she was anxious to see her son before checking into the suite she had reserved at a nearby, first-class hotel. She walked up to the foot of Harm's bed, while the Admiral hung back, standing near the door.

Trish looked Harm over, as he lay oblivious to their presence, taking everything in. Her eyes moved down from his head of shaggy hair, over his pale, ashen face with a shadow of stubble just beginning to appear. Even in sleep, he did not relax, wearing a slight frown and twitching occasionally. She looked at his hand, as it rested lightly over a television remote control on his chest, noticing the bandages wrapped around his wrist. The other arm was hidden under the blanket, which was pulled up nearly to his shoulders.

"He looks thinner than when I last saw him," Trish whispered. She hadn't been sure what to expect. What little Chegwidden had told her was not much to go on. She only knew that Harm had been held captive for reasons unknown, by unidentified assailants. Trish was more concerned about what the Admiral did not say. She imagined that Harm was most likely treated poorly, and it hurt her to think of him in pain or frightened. Unbeknownst to her, Chegwidden had kept his promise to Rabb and did not divulge the extent of his injuries to her, or to anyone, for that matter. He did assure her that Harm had no broken bones and that he was improving every day.

Harm stirred. In his dream, he was at the point where he was watching his blood drip from him, feeling his life force slipping away and accepting his inevitable death. Although feeling terrible sorrow at leaving his mother behind, he held fast to his belief that he would soon be with his father again, and he was no longer afraid.

"N-n-n-n-u-h!" Harm emitted a half-sobbing, half-choking sound, as he suddenly startled awake. His eyes flew open, to find himself staring at Trish, standing near the foot of his bed and gazing down at him.

"M-mom?" Harm blinked and his breath hitched, a look of bewilderment on his face, as he struggled to shake off the intense nightmare. With that one stammered word, his resolve to remain strong crumbled.

"Oh, Harm. I'm right here, darling," Trish said, moving swiftly towards him, around the side of the bed. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and Trish sat down next to him, holding out her arms. Harm leaned into the safety and comfort of his mother's embrace, allowing her to hold him the way she had when he was a child. She rocked him gently for several moments.

"I wasn't afraid, Mom," Harm stated softly, vividly remembering that moment that he had been prepared to surrender to his death on that terrible night.

"What do you mean, sweetie?" Trish hugged her son tighter to her.

"I wasn't afraid to die … I hated the thought of leaving you behind and wondering what happened to me, but I knew I would be with Dad … so I wasn't afraid."

It was an emotional moment to witness, and Chegwidden, feeling awkwardly intrusive on their privacy, slipped silently out to the hallway.

"I'm okay, mom," Harm said finally, lifting his head from where he had rested it above her bosom. He was determined to pull himself together; he could not let her see how weak he felt.

"Are you really all right, Harm?" Trish did not appear convinced. "Frank and I have been so very worried. What happened to you?"

Harm pulled away and straightened up. "I'm not going to discuss that with you, mom," he said firmly. "What's important is that it's over, I'm back and everything is going to be all right." He managed to sound more confident and reassuring than he felt, and abruptly changed the subject. "So, how is Frank anyway?"

"He's fine. He really wanted to come with me, but he's on a business trip that was unavoidable. As soon as he can wrap it up, he'll fly out here to join us," she explained.

"Tell him not to worry about it," Harm shrugged. "I'm sure I'll get cut loose from here any day now."

"And then what? How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Trish's barrage of questions and her concern were a bit overwhelming.

"M-o-o-o-m," Harm whined, rolling his eyes. "You can stop worrying. I'm just tired and a little sore. I just want to go home."

"Oh, honey, I'll stay and take care of you for as long as you need me." Trish reached over and ran her hand lightly over the side of his face.

Harm tried not to squirm, as his mind raced with the implications. He would have to find a way to convince her that everything was all right. He couldn't allow her to suspect how bad he felt, what a mess he was. The longer she stayed, the bigger the risk that his façade of control would be discovered. "Well, I'll probably be back at work before you know it," he stubbornly insisted. "I have a lot of catching up to do – seven weeks worth, to be exact."

"Now, don't go rushing into anything and overdoing it," she scolded him. "You need to take it easy and build up your strength."

"Yes, Mom," Harm responded sheepishly.

Harm then managed to change the subject and the two of them visited for a little while, talking about various mundane topics. Trish chatted about what she and Frank were up to and other family things. Harm welcomed the distraction. He needed that sense of normalcy, even if it felt like an illusion.

Harm was surprised to hear a polite knocking at the door, before it slowly swung open. The Admiral's head peeked around the edge of the door.

"Just checking to see how you're doing," said Chegwidden.

"Please, Admiral, come in," Harm replied, as his mother rose from her seated position on his bed and stood near him.

"I'm not alone, actually. Do you feel up to more visitors?" A.J. asked.

Harm gave him a perplexed look. "Who?"

"MacKenzie and Webb are here." After a pause, he added, "They brought you some things from your apartment."

"Okay," Harm nodded slightly. He had not been prepared to see Mac alone, and was relieved by the presence of several other people. Safety in numbers, he thought.

Chegwidden disappeared for a moment to signal the others. Webb hung back a bit, as Mac surged anxiously past him, her eyes huge with worry as her gaze focused on Harm. She faltered for a mere moment to take in the sight in front of her, her friend and partner of eight years sitting up in a hospital bed. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him in this position before, far from it. Commander Rabb had gotten into more than his share of predicaments and close calls. The one that had affected Mac most was when his jet had gone down in the Atlantic Ocean on the eve of her wedding to Mic Brumby. Not only was it a harrowing event, it had changed the course of her life. Because of it, the wedding never happened. Now, the past seven weeks of not knowing what had happened to Harm, or if she'd ever see him again, had taken their toll on her as well. Mac realized how deep her unresolved feelings for Harm were, as she stared at his pale, nearly gaunt face.

"Harm?" Mac's voice wavered, his name coming out less confident sounding than she had wanted it to. She watched his solemn eyes carefully and, for an instant, she detected a hint of apprehension in them before he managed to flash her a smile.

"Hey, Mac."

"Hey," she answered, stepping closer, then hesitating, completely focused on him. "How are you doing?" Mac allowed herself to glance down briefly at Harm's hands to notice the bandaging wrapped around his wrists. Since the rest of him was covered, all she could really tell was how tired he looked and that he appeared thinner. She found it disconcerting that he seemed to have visibly aged since the last time she had seen him.

"Well, I'm alive," Harm snickered and gave Mac a lopsided grin.

There was so much Mac wanted to say to Harm, but there were just too many people in the room with them. Realizing who was with him, she composed herself. Pleasantries were exchanged between Trish, Mac and Webb, and then Webb stepped over to Harm's bed, holding a stuffed duffel bag.

"We brought you some things we thought you might need, your robe, some clothes, sneakers, shaving kit with toiletries, everything we could think of," Webb explained.

"Wow, thanks, I appreciate that," Harm replied. "I'll go through it later." He watched Clay set it inside the closet for the time being.

A hospital staff member walked in, and got Harm's attention with an announcement. "I have a supper tray for you, but I see you have several visitors."

"It's okay, I'm ready for it," Harm said quickly. His stomach had been gurgling, so he knew it had to be near dinnertime. The room suddenly seemed crowded as the tray was set up for him, but at this point he didn't care if everyone was going to watch him eat. He wasn't going to let that stop him.

Trish leaned over to Harm and placed her hand along the side of his cheek, then planted a quick kiss on his forehead. "Enjoy your dinner, dear. While you visit with your friends, I'm going to go get checked into my hotel and grab a bite. I'll be back in just a little while, all right?"

"Okay," Harm nodded, giving her a weak smile.

Chegwidden proceeded to escort Harm's mother out, pausing at the sound of Harm's voice.

"Admiral?"

He turned back to make eye contact with the younger officer, barely able to hear the words Rabb whispered to him.

"Thank you, sir."

A.J. acknowledged his words with a nod and a sincere, encouraging smile. On his way out, he addressed Webb and Mac with a softly muttered warning. "Don't tire him out."

Mac and Clay visited with Harm for a little while longer while he finished his supper. They were both careful to keep the conversation light and neutral. Harm didn't do much of the talking, but listening to Mac's attempt to catch him up on every day, normal things was a welcome distraction. When Trish returned, they said their goodbyes, as they had not had dinner yet. Clay assured Harm that he would see him as soon as he got back into town from wherever his mission took him. Trish spent the rest of the evening with him, until the end of visiting hours. By then, Harm was yawning and sleepy.

***

Sunday was a relatively easy day for Harm, although time passed slowly. He found that he just did not have the concentration or focus to read or watch television for very long, and he was starting to become bored and fidgety. His mother spent most of the day with him and Mac had stopped by to check on him. She did not get a chance to really talk to Harm, as they were never alone, but she knew there would be time and her opportunity would come soon enough.

Harm was up and around more, slowly gaining stability and strength. Dressed in his robe and slipper-socks, he took short walks around the floor, shuffling with a light, though persistent limp. He tired easily and took frequent short naps. Even with the medication, his sleep was not restful, interrupted by nightmares far too often to get any quality rest.

Though still on a soft, easy to digest food diet, Harm required medication to ease the functioning of his digestive tract. Fortunately, the medications helped, for which he was most grateful. Otherwise, as a last resort, he would have been subjected to an enema, a painful reminder of some of the worst moments in his captivity.

By comparison, Monday turned out to be an extremely long and difficult day. It started out with a long session in the morning with Dr. Parnell. The psychiatrist did most of the talking, since Harm was less than forthcoming. However, Harm appeared to listen and understand, and hopefully even learned a few things. The doctor spent much of the time trying to convince Harm that he had done nothing wrong and had no reason to feel guilty or ashamed. Harm was told that his feelings and symptoms were normal and expected reactions to an abnormal, traumatic event. He also explained to Harm that whatever he was going through now was a result of what was done to him, and to therefore, not think of his distress as a mental illness, but rather a psychological injury. Harm was suffering from acute stress reaction, and Dr. Parnell assured him that, even though he may sometimes feel like he was losing his mind, he was not going crazy. His words gave Harm a lot to think about. Although it made sense to Harm's intellectual side, he did not know how he was actually going to feel better, to begin to put all this behind him.

Dr. Parnell had informed Harm that even after Dr. Carrington cleared him to go home, he would be required to continue treatment as an outpatient, and would remain on medical leave until further notice. Dr. Parnell would be the one determining when the Commander could return to full duty. In addition to the individual sessions, Harm was also to attend group therapy regularly. The classes would help him learn coping skills, so that his sessions with Dr. Parnell could concentrate on processing the traumatic memories. Harm was warned that the road ahead would be hard work, and that he might even feel worse before he began to heal.

Harm had remained stoic throughout, keeping a tight lid on the volatile thoughts and emotions swirling through his brain. Before leaving, the doctor told him he'd check in on him again before the end of the day. When the psychiatrist finally left, Harm breathed a shaky sigh of relief. He didn't want to think, to deal with any of it. He longed to be left alone, for the prying questions to end, but he knew that was not going to happen. He just wanted to go home, but then what? The thought of dealing with the real world and pretending everything was normal was just as terrifying to him as the rest of his ordeal had been.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time before either his mother or someone else would walk into his room, Harm crawled back into the bed and pulled the covers up over himself in an attempt to shut out the world for a few quiet minutes.

***

Harm had just finished a light lunch and was leaning back against the elevated bed to relax. Trish was sitting in one of the chairs, watching whatever was on the small overhead television. The door to his room swung open and Admiral Chegwidden appeared, in uniform with overcoat, carrying a huge gift bag with two shiny, helium-filled balloons tied to the handles in one hand and his cover in the other. Harm could not help but break into a tentative smile at the sight before him. The Admiral appeared to be just slightly flustered from being seen carrying the cheerfully colorful spectacle. After greeting Harm's mother, he set the bag next to Harm on the bed.

"How are you doing today, Commander?"

"Fine, sir, thank you," Harm responded automatically before adding, "I should be back underfoot at JAG and causing trouble in no time, sir."

Of that, I have no doubt, Commander," Chegwidden grinned. "I just wanted to drop by to check on you and to deliver this."

"What is all this?" Harm asked, looking curiously at the bright, multi-colored bag. Both the bag and the balloons had the words 'Get Well Soon' spread across them.

"Just some well wishes and things to cheer you up from the staff, organized by Petty Officer Coates." Chegwidden sighed noisily. "As usual, she tends to go a bit overboard." He smirked as he spoke, however, and amusement danced in his eyes.

"How sweet," Trish noted.

Harm leaned forward, sitting upright, and peered into the large bag. He pulled out the first item on top and laughed. It was a plush stuffed toy; a bright yellow, chubby airplane with short wing flaps, big eyes and a smile across the rounded nose. Harm stared at it in disbelief, then held it up for his mother to see the silly *face*. It couldn't help but brighten the mood of anyone who looked at it. Knowing this had to be Jennifer's doing, Harm wondered where on earth she had found such a thing.

"That is absolutely adorable," said Trish, watching Harm with love and concern as he carefully placed the soft, fuzzy plane at the corner of the bed, next to his pillows.

Harm reached back into the bag and found a stack of envelopes. He gathered them up and laid them in his lap, giving the Admiral a curious look. At the bottom of the bag were the latest issues of various magazines, including a couple of aviation ones, to keep Harm occupied.

"Apparently, there are individual notes from everyone. I have to get back, so you can open your cards in private," Chegwidden said by way of explanation. "People have been asking about you. What would you like me to tell them?"

There was a pause while Harm thought it over. "I don't know, sir … that I'm doing better?" He still didn't want a bunch of people visiting him in the hospital, but knew there was only so long he could put off seeing his friends and colleagues. "Uh, maybe tell Sturgis and Bud and Harriet that I'll see them as soon as I'm up to it."

"Will do, Commander," A.J. nodded in understanding, preparing to depart. "Well, I'll leave you to it then."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate all this … all you've done," Harm said sincerely.

After Chegwidden left, Harm opened and read all the warm and thoughtful cards and personal messages from the various staff members he had worked with at JAG Headquarters. There was even one from someone he had never met, a Lt. Commander Shawn Barnes, and Harm realized that he must have been replaced due to his extended absence. There were funny cards and cute cards aimed to cheer him up, and he was truly touched by the outpouring of encouraging words and sincere wishes for his recovery. It was all a bit overwhelming and Harm leaned back to rest his head.

"You know, Harm, you are fortunate to be surrounded by so many people who care about you." Trish was in full mothering mode as she neatly stacked the magazines within easy reach on the nightstand. She then removed the lunch tray from the rolling table nearby and proceeded to set up the numerous cards on it so that Harm could look at them at any time.

All Harm could do was nod in agreement and smile as he watched her. "Why don't you take a break and go get some coffee or something?" he hinted. "I'm just going to close my eyes for a few minutes."

"All right, darling." Trish leaned over him and stroked his forehead, pushing a lock of dark hair out of the way. "You could use a haircut," she teased.

"Yeah, well, I've been a bit … busy," he murmured.

When she returned a little while later, she found Harm sound asleep with the furry yellow airplane tucked into the crook of his arm.

***

By the end of the afternoon, Harm had gone through another session with Dr. Parnell. This time, the doctor did not push or get into the issues at hand. Instead, he focused on getting background information and personal history. He got Harm to talk about his life prior to the abduction in an attempt to get to know him, to see what made Commander Rabb tick. Harm remained guarded; it was going to take some time to establish trust between patient and therapist. Though the signs were subtle, Dr. Parnell was able to ascertain that Harm was suspicious, nervous, and did not feel safe. He discussed Harm's medications with him, explaining that the Lorazepam was to be used as needed for panic attacks and to help him sleep if the nightmares persisted. The Paroxetine that he had started him on was to be taken every morning, and it could take up to a couple of weeks for Harm to start feeling the benefits. Though classified as an antidepressant, Paroxetine was also used successfully as treatment for anxiety disorders, including Post Traumatic Stress.

Then, Dr. Carrington came and examined Harm, informing him that he would most likely be discharged tomorrow evening.

The evening was even more eventful, with Mac stopping by to visit before she headed home from Falls Church. Harm and Trish shared the good news with her, upon which she immediately offered to pick him up and give him a ride home. At the time, Harm didn't put up any argument. While she was there, another completely unexpected visitor showed up, his stepfather, Frank Burnett.

Harm was able to convince Trish and Frank that he was almost as good as new, and that they may as well go home to California in the morning. After all, he had a lot to do in preparation of returning to work, and he had Mac and his other friends to help with whatever might be needed.

"Harm, call me in the morning to confirm what time you're getting sprung from here," Mac said, smiling. "I'm sure I can be here by eighteen hundred hours. Bet you can't wait to be back home."

"That's for sure," Harm replied. Mac's eyes locked with his, but his expression was unreadable.

"Good night. I'll see you tomorrow." Mac patted his hand, as she stood up to leave.

"G' night, Mac."

By the time Frank and Trish said their goodbyes and went back to the hotel to make their flight arrangements, they were secure in the knowledge that Harm was in good hands. He'd had another close call and had given them quite a scare, but they had no reason not to believe that he had bounced back and that everything was going to be fine.

***

The following morning found Harm definitely on edge. While looking in the mirror that maintenance had replaced, he thought about how odd it was that there had been no questions or even any mention about the cracked mirror. He shaved, showered and then dressed after going through everything in the duffel bag that Clay and Mac had thoughtfully packed for him. Having worn the sweat pants the day before, he opted for the jeans and a sweatshirt. He also found his sneakers, and a hooded, zippered sweatshirt jacket. He knew it would be cold out when he left the hospital. It was January after all. He thought about what he last wore back in mid-November. Damn, he was going to miss his favorite leather coat. The revelation made his mind reel for a few moments and he had to sit down on the bed. As it turned out, it took several minutes for Harm to collect himself, staring blankly as the intrusive memories jumbled together. Finally, he gathered up his magazines and cards, placing them in the bag sitting next to him. He got up and put his robe in there, as well. He looked around the room, checked the closet, and the last item he placed on top was the stuffed airplane toy. He smiled sadly at it and thought how life was easier when you're a kid, at least it was supposed to be. His life had never been simple, he hadn't been a child since he was six years old, not since his father was shot down in Nam. Now his life had been changed yet again, only this time in ways he could never have possibly imagined. Not only did he miss Christmas, his entire sense of a normal existence had been violently ripped from him, all at the hands of one evil man.

Harm suddenly felt a profound need to go to The Wall. He had no intention of calling Mac, hoping instead that he would be released before 1800 hours. He planned on calling a cab, and visiting the memorial to talk to his father before going to the safety of his apartment. He would lock himself in and lock the world out, not wanting to need anyone, not depending on anyone other than himself.

Harm set the packed duffel bag on the floor, his hands trembling. Since his long sleeves covered his wrists, he unwrapped the ace bandages and set them aside. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he paced the hospital room like a caged animal. Just a few more hours, he thought. Doggedly, he kept telling himself that he could do this. However, as the minutes passed, Harm continued to become more agitated. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and he stood face to face with Dr. Parnell.

"Good morning, Commander Rabb. I understand Dr. Carrington is going to discharge you later today."

"Well, sir, that's the rumor," Harm quipped nonchalantly.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm … ah … looking forward to going home and getting on with my life." Harm had to be careful here. He just hoped that he'd say what the doctor would want to hear.

"Good. I'm glad I have one more opportunity to talk to you before you're released. Why don't we have a seat?"

As Harm moved to one of the chairs, he held in his frustration. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was another grueling session. He had a bad feeling that this would not be easy. "What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked pointedly.

"Well, Commander, I do have a few concerns …"

***

It was dark when Mac left JAG Headquarters, but she couldn't get away any sooner. She had informed the Admiral earlier in the day that she was going to pick Harm up from the hospital. The Admiral was out of the office all afternoon at meetings. The traffic was awful on the drive to Bethesda. By the time she arrived, it was 1809. Mac hadn't heard from Harm and her day had become hectic, so she hoped he would be ready to go. Even more so, she hoped he hadn't been waiting too long for her.

Mac walked quickly and directly to his room. The door was open and she entered. The room was empty.

"Harm?" She looked around. There was no sign of his things, or even that anyone had been in here recently. Her heart thudded in her chest as she felt a knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She ran out to the nurses' station. "Excuse me. Could you tell me where Commander Rabb is?"

A perky blond nurse named Lori came out from behind the counter. "I'm sorry, Colonel …"

"MacKenzie. I'm here to pick up Commander Rabb. He was supposed to be discharged this evening. He hasn't left already, has he?"

"I'm afraid I can't give out any patient information," Lori stated nervously. "You aren't on the list."

"Well, then I suggest you find someone who can," Mac glared at her.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll page Dr. Carrington."

Mac paced up and down the hall, seriously trying not to panic. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Thanks to her internal clock, she kept track of the seconds that ticked by. Exactly ninety seven seconds later, Dr. Carrington appeared.

"Where is Commander Rabb?" Mac's stance was assertive, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Colonel MacKenzie, I'm sorry if you were alarmed. The only two people that are cleared to receive medical information concerning Commander Rabb are Admiral Chegwidden and Clayton Webb."

"Why? What's happened? I'm supposed to take him home. I just want to know where the hell he is." Mac tried to remain calm, but could hear her voice rising with fear and frustration.

"Please, come with me." Mac followed the doctor to his office as he explained. "I've left several messages for both Admiral Chegwidden and Mr. Webb this afternoon."

"Mr. Webb is out of the country and the Admiral has been out of the office all afternoon at meetings on the Hill. I'm sure he had to turn off his cell phone, too. I could try to reach him now," Mac offered anxiously.

"I have that number, also," said Dr. Carrington. "Maybe he's out of his meeting by now. I'll give it another try." He gave Mac a kind smile and sat behind his desk. "If you could wait outside while I make the call, please, I have to protect the patient's rights of privacy."

"Of course. I understand." Mac went out into the hall, closing the door behind her. The sooner the Admiral was apprised of the situation, the sooner Mac would hopefully learn what was going on. She stayed nearby, straining to hear the doctor's side of the conversation, but all that came through the door was muffled sounds.

Within two minutes, Dr. Carrington opened the door. "Admiral Chegwidden is on his way. I can tell you only this much; Commander Rabb will not be discharged tonight. He has been moved to another wing."

"Please, you have to tell me, is he … is he all right?" Mac's voice trembled, and her eyes were huge and moist.

"He's safe and sound."

"Can I see him?"

"I'm sorry, Colonel, no visitors at this time. You may as well go home. Now if you'll excuse me."

Mac walked numbly down the hallway. She needed answers. Making her way quickly down to the main entrance, she practically ran outside to use her cell phone. When the Admiral didn't answer, she nearly screamed in frustration.

"Aarrrrgh!" Mac gave up and retreated back inside the doors. It was too cold to wait outside. "Damn it!" she swore under her breath. Diligently, she watched every person entering the building until, finally, she saw the Admiral approach in his overcoat and cover, his face grim. She met him as he entered the lobby.

"Admiral, I don't know what's going on, but I'm really worried. They wouldn't tell me *anything*! Can you tell me where the Commander is?"

"I understand your concern, Colonel, but they're just doing their jobs, protecting Rabb's privacy." A.J. stopped walking long enough to look at Mac. She looked frightened, and as though she could be almost in tears. "Aw, hell, Mac. You're going to find out eventually anyway. I know you used to be close friends and Rabb's going to need all the friends and support he can get. I'll see what I can do to get you cleared. Come on. Let's go talk to his doctors." They headed to the elevators. "In the meantime, I can tell you this much. The Commander has been transferred to the Psychiatric Unit for Adult Inpatients. Apparently, he had some kind of breakdown today; Carrington called it a stress breakdown and it's serious. Mac, they have him on suicide watch."

Mac froze like a deer caught in headlights and stared at Chegwidden.

"Oh-my-god."

***

In Building 10 on Floor 7W of the National Naval Medical Center at Bethesda, Admiral Chegwidden and Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie were waiting to speak with Dr. Parnell. They had first met with Dr. Carrington, who had kindly escorted them there, filling them in on what little he could. Too anxious to sit, Mac was pacing the waiting area, while A.J. simply watched from his position, his stance rigid, fingers gripping his cover as he shifted it periodically from one hand to the other.

Fortunately for them, Dr. Parnell was still on duty, finishing his rounds well into the evening hours. In spite of his seniority, or perhaps because of it, he still often put in long days, especially when there were emergencies. Today was one of those days. He had not been surprised by the turn of events with Commander Rabb, had even been half-expecting it. After all, it was just a matter of when, not if, the cork was going to pop, so to speak. Harmon Rabb was a walking, ticking time bomb. Parnell was amazed by the amount of self-control that Rabb had fought so hard to maintain. A less strong man would not have lasted this long. However, he couldn't help but feel bad that the final break might have been triggered by their morning session.

The subject of Stockholm Syndrome had been part of their discussion. Parnell had explained how it was a survival strategy in extreme conditions for victims who had been held hostage or captive and in constant fear for their lives. The constant threat to survival and conditions of helplessness, hopelessness, and isolation, combined with the motivation to survive and avoid pain and fear, all contribute to the bonding between victim and captor. Although Rabb had agreed that he had done what he had to do to survive, he had vehemently denied identifying with his captor, that he felt nothing but hatred for the man. Parnell had then asked him tough questions.

"Did your survival depend on total surrender and compliance? Did your captor use force and threats of force? Did he use the negative reinforcement of relief from pain and positive reinforcement such as approval, rewards, or showing you some small kindness? Were you dependent on your captor for every basic need? Did you feel there was no chance or opportunity to escape?"

The Commander had to, in all honesty, answer yes to those questions. Parnell felt Rabb had exhibited at least some of the symptoms of Stockholm Syndrome, and had, at the very least, been subjected to some brainwashing techniques by his captor.

Rabb had hung his head, distressed, then stated, "I know that. I knew it when he was doing it, but there wasn't a whole hell of a lot I could do about it. I couldn't fight him anymore."

At that point, Parnell had leaned forward in his chair and told Harm, "And that's nothing to be ashamed of, you know." Rabb had merely shaken his head, unable to trust himself to speak without wavering.

Parnell had gone on to ask him what his plans were and if he was really prepared to go on with his life after leaving the hospital. All Rabb would tell him was that he was going to take things day by day, that he wanted to get back to a normal routine as soon as possible. The possibility of returning to work was also discussed, but Parnell didn't want Rabb to rush into anything, in fact, assuring him that he would remain on medical leave until further notice.

By the time Parnell was ready to leave, Rabb looked sad and withdrawn more than angry. Harm had insisted he was fine, though his white-knuckled grip on the chair arm said otherwise, and he managed to convince the doctor he just needed time alone to think.

Now, Parnell wondered if he would ever know what took place in Rabb's mind in the few hours between when he left him and when he had received the urgent page to Rabb's room.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself before opening the door to face Admiral Chegwidden and the myriad questions that were sure to barrage him. With his many years of experience, he was not easily intimidated which was a good thing. As he entered the room, he took in the imposing form and stern demeanor of the Admiral. He also observed the Lieutenant Colonel standing by his side, looking more anxious, but no less tight-jawed or serious than the tall, bald man she accompanied.

"What's happened to Commander Rabb?" Chegwidden barked, direct and to the point, dispensing with any greeting.

"I've just come from checking on him and he's sleeping, finally," the doctor calmly replied. Without further explanation, he turned to Mac. "I'm John Parnell and you are..."

"Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie," said Mac, thinking briefly that the doctor appeared close to Chegwidden's age and had a fatherly look about him. "I'm the Commander's partner at JAG ... and friend. Is there any way that we can see him?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that's not possible. I don't want him to be disturbed and he is sedated. He should sleep through the night." Parnell looked back and forth at both worried faces. "He has also made it clear to me that he doesn't want anyone to see him 'like this'."

"Then, he has been talking?" asked the Admiral.

"Oh, yes, he is aware of where he is and why he's here. I assure you that the Commander checked in voluntarily and has accepted that he needs help. He is being closely monitored."

Chegwidden thought briefly about the ramifications of this on Rabb's career. "What exactly took place today and why is he on suicide watch?"

Parnell cleared his throat, then glanced pointedly at Mac. "Admiral, until Commander Rabb gives me his verbal permission to do so, I will not discuss details of his case with anyone other than yourself. If you'll come with me, sir, I will explain everything."

At that moment, Mac looked forlorn and lost. Chegwidden was torn. Inside, he wanted to comfort her, to pat her hand and tell her everything was going to be all right. Instead, he gruffly said, "Wait for me here, Colonel."

"Yes, sir!" Mac answered automatically, posture stiff, eyes straight ahead.

"Show me where Rabb is," the Admiral said to the psychiatrist. It was not a request.

"This way, Admiral," Parnell replied, leading the way out.

Only when the doors closed and Mac was alone, did she sag and drop into a nearby chair.

***

Chegwidden was allowed to catch a glimpse of Rabb, who was indeed asleep. He could also see that various staff members were, in fact, watching him around the clock. He listened intently as Dr. Parnell explained the circumstances that brought the Commander here.

"When I spoke with Commander Rabb this morning, he seemed a little shaky, but willing and able to go home and face the outside world. We discussed some aspects of his captivity, and he admitted knowledge of having been brainwashed and having confused feelings about his captor, which I feel is a big step forward.

"Around lunchtime, he was found huddled on the floor, moaning and mumbling incoherently. I was paged immediately and I found him in a dissociative state. I believe that the memories of his trauma and, perhaps, the thought of leaving the relative safety of this hospital became too much for him to bear. When stress becomes too overwhelming, the mind shuts down, sort of a protective mechanism, if you will. Therefore, the phrase 'stress breakdown'. Commander Rabb has been experiencing several, extended flashback episodes, but in between, he does have moments, or even longer, periods of lucidity. Fortunately, he hasn't tried to hurt himself or anyone else. He is fighting very hard to suppress his rage, but he also has strong feelings of guilt and shame."

"I can understand the anger, but why would he be ashamed?" Chegwidden interjected.

"Intellectually, he knows that nothing about his ordeal was his fault. However, that doesn't stop him from feeling humiliated over all that was done to him at the hands of one man. Pain, fear, and utter helplessness were bad enough. That much of the torture was of a sexual nature made it so much more degrading, not only of the body, but also of the mind and spirit."

"Dear-god, he must be in such hell," Chegwidden shook his head. "Has he given up? Is that why he's on suicide watch?"

"Ah. That," the doctor sighed. "We take all suicidal ideations, even vague ones, very seriously. The Commander repeatedly verbalized that he wished he had been allowed to die. Though I'd like to think he wouldn't actually kill himself, I thought it best to err on the side of caution. I truly believe he is a survivor; he wouldn't have gotten this far, otherwise."

"Is there any chance I could see him tomorrow?"

"Let's wait and see. I need to determine whether visitors will help or harm him at this point. The good news is that he has not been violent, but he has been experiencing panic attacks, verbal outbursts, and extreme agitation, all of which we are trying to control with medications. I assure you that my staff is under strict orders not to physically restrain him under any circumstances, considering what he has been through. I'm confident we will find the right drug therapies to stabilize his emotions."

"Will he ever be all right?" asked Chegwidden.

"Hmmm, that's a tough question, Admiral," answered Parnell. "I think he can be helped to get better, to learn to cope. It will take time. Regardless, Commander Rabb will never be the same man you knew before he was abducted. One can't live through such extreme circumstances and not be profoundly changed by the experience."

"How long will he stay here?"

"Again, hard to predict. This is not a long-term care facility and we have only eight beds. Most admissions are directly from the emergency room or another mental health facility, and the average stay is typically between three and twenty-one days. We stabilize acute crises, evaluate, treat, and determine disposition. Commander Rabb will be in intensive therapy, which I will continually monitor, and I'll reassess his condition daily. He's getting the best of care here."

"I'm sure he is," Chegwidden sighed. "It's just a difficult situation. The Commander has worked for me for over eight years. Even though I've had to rein him in on occasion, he's a damn fine attorney, top-notch. I hate that he's suffering."

The doctor nodded. "Please feel free to call me anytime to check on his status, Admiral."

"Thank you, Doctor." The two men shook hands and then proceeded to head back to the area where Mac was waiting. "Now, how do I tell his very worried best friend what's going on, without telling her what's going on?"

"I'm sure you'll do the right thing, sir," the psychiatrist said sympathetically, as he took his leave.

Chegwidden grunted in acknowledgement. He would fill Mac in on the bare essentials and try to ease her mind. Then, they would both go home. There was nothing more that could be done tonight.

***

The next day, when Chegwidden had telephoned the Psychiatric Unit, Dr. Parnell had informed him that Rabb was having a pretty rough day, but that he would do his best to get through to his patient before the Admiral's visit. Chegwidden was unable to clear his schedule until mid-afternoon, but with Petty Officer Coates' help, he could at least leave early for the day.

Chegwidden was now observing from outside of Rabb's room, unsure just what to expect. The doctor was in with Harm, talking to him quietly. Harm was dressed in baggy, gray sweatpants, white socks, and a loose-fitting, plain, white tee shirt. He looked ragged, uncombed hair sticking out in all directions and the shadow of beard stubble on his face. His eyes gazed blankly, unfocused, heavy lids almost half-closed. Sitting against the bed's headboard, he had his legs drawn up to his chest. He had wedged a pillow between his chest and thighs to rest his head on, and his arms were crossed over his knees, hugging himself, the scarring around his wrists showing starkly against his pale skin. Rabb's entire demeanor, complete with rocking himself, reminded A.J. of a small, frightened child, rather than a Naval officer, and it saddened him immensely.

Finally, Chegwidden saw Harm react with a nod. The doctor rose to his feet and came out to address him.

"Admiral, he's coherent at the moment and aware that I'm allowing you to visit, which he has accepted. However, should he become too agitated, I will intervene."

"So, remaining calm is key," acknowledged Chegwidden. "I can do that." Inside, he fervently hoped that his mere presence wouldn't upset Rabb.

Once inside Rabb's small, stark room, he realized there were no light chairs around. In fact, there was nothing that could be picked up and thrown. There was only the bed and a large, comfy, overstuffed recliner in a corner near the window. The walls were a soothing pastel blue, and the spread covering the bed looked thick and soft, in pastel colors with a muted floral pattern.

Chegwidden wanted to get down on Harm's level, not tower over him, and he had watched Parnell sitting on the bed earlier in order to get into Harm's line of sight.

"Hello, Harm, it's me – A.J.," he said softly. Harm stopped his rocking motion, but offered no other acknowledgement.

"Harm?" He tried again. "Harm, is it all right if I sit here?" He indicated the foot end of the bed. Harm gave a slight nod, but still did not look at him.

"Harm, how are you feeling?" A.J. asked gently, as he lowered himself carefully onto the opposite end of the bed from Harm.

Finally, Harm responded, focusing on Chegwidden's face. "A-Admiral?"

"Yes, Harm, it's me. I'm here," he said, smiling.

"You - you shouldn't have come," Harm frowned.

"I just wanted to know how you're feeling. I'm very concerned about you; we all are."

Harm released a long sigh. His expressions, his movements, his speech; everything about him was lethargic. As much as he hated being drugged, it helped to numb him against the constant onslaught of emotional pain.

"I guess ... I'm not doing so ... great," Harm said dejectedly.

*I'm not doing great  
I feel like I'm dead  
Not thinking straight  
Inside my body, troubled, full of hate  
I had to let it out before it's too late

Deep Inside, It can hide!  
Feeling so lost and betrayed  
why does this happen to me every time  
Stuck in this place, where I can't escape  
Screaming and clawing from deep inside

Why won't it fade  
Outside I had to lie; "I'm ok",  
I hope someday, I'll stop getting pain  
I guess this is a lie, I have made ... *

Harm closed his eyes to block out the Admiral's scrutinizing gaze, as another wave of memories washed over him. Once again, he was barraged by overwhelming visions, all jumbled together, sweeping him into another intense flashback. This time, Harm, back in that cold dungeon and naked as always, was sitting on the edge of the cot. His captor stood before him, touching him, touching his face. The master unzipped and pulled out his manhood, making it clear what Harm had to do. Then, after thinking it would never end, he was swallowing, choking down the bitter fluid of the master's release. Afterwards, the master had shown him some small kindness and Harm remembered how he had fallen apart. The master had held him and soothed him as he cried uncontrollably. *You're mine. Tell me you're mine.* *I'm yours.*

Fear, disgust, and the unfairness of it all surged through Harm, yet the flashback continued. *Help me.*

"Help me ..." Harm whispered. Chegwidden leaned forward, noticing how Harm was shaking.

"What can I do for you, Harm? Just name it," he said, quietly.

*Please, don't leave me.* Harm had begged his master.

"Please ... don't leave m-me," Harm blurted out, a tear rolling down his cheek. Then, taking Chegwidden completely by surprise, he launched himself at the older man. In an instant, he was across the bed, throwing himself down onto Chegwidden's lap. He laid his head on the Admiral's thigh and curled up into a fetal position, hands wrapped around his leg in a hanging-on-for-dear-life grip.

"Please, master, I'll be good. I promise, I'll do better," Harm chanted. "I'll be a good boy. Please, just don't hurt me anymore, master."

"Oh-dear-god ..." Chegwidden didn't know what to do now. He looked around, then awkwardly patted Harm's back, trying to comfort. "Hey, hey, now, it's okay. Come on, Harm, no one is going to hurt you."

Thankfully, Dr. Parnell hurried in.

"He seems to believe I'm his captor," Chegwidden explained, sounding calmer than he felt, as he kept patting and rubbing Harm's shoulder.

"Don't be alarmed, Admiral." Parnell leaned down in front of them. "Once a flashback is triggered, it tends to take him back there, like it's happening all over again. This seems to be a strong one, but I don't want to give him any more medication just yet. He's already fairly sedated and tends to fight it, anyway."

Harm was murmuring now. "I'm sorry, master. Please ... just make the pain ... go away ... stuck in this place where I can't escape."

An orderly entered with a cold, wet cloth. He helped the doctor pull Harm back up to a sitting position, legs over the side, feet touching the floor. They rubbed the cloth across his forehead, as he stared into space. The fear, disgust and rage began to recede, as he gradually became aware of his surroundings.

"Harm, it's Doctor Parnell. Come back to the present, now. Do you know where you are?" He spoke calmly and continued. "Admiral Chegwidden is here, too. There's nothing to be afraid of, Harm. We're all here to protect and help you."

Harm felt the coolness against his head and he shuddered. Then, he looked right at Parnell. "I ... it was ... bad ..." He hugged himself, shivering, his hands moving up and down to rub his arms.

"Do you want another shot?" asked the psychiatrist.

Harm shook his head. "No. No, I'm ... managing." He felt drained and exhausted now. Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that Chegwidden was sitting right next to him, too closely. Flinching and wide-eyed, he quickly pulled away, putting space between them. "Ah ... Admiral," said Harm, confused, wondering how long his Commanding Officer had been there.

"Harm," A.J. replied, looking at him with concern and ... pity.

"Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god," Harm muttered, hanging his head with embarrassment at his behavior, as he vaguely recalled what had transpired. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," Chegwidden said firmly. "No need to apologize ... for anything."

Harm nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "Shit." He wondered if he would ever get his emotions back under control. He was torn between not wanting to be touched and the urge to lean into the older man's quiet strength, to feel safe.

"Harm, listen to me. I'm absolutely convinced that things ... Will. Get. Better. I want you to believe that, too," A.J. said.

"I'll try, sir. I'm trying really hard. It's just ..." Harm voiced wavered, then trailed off. He could not look the Admiral in the eye.

"I know, I know, son."

"I just feel so alone," Harm said, his despair evident.

"You're not alone. I understand that you're hurting and afraid, but you don't have to be alone. You have people who care about you. If you need me for anything at all, I'm here; and if you just need a hug, well, I can do that, too," A.J. said soothingly.

Harm glanced up at him warily, wondering whether or not he could believe what the man was saying. He would never have thought that this tough former SEAL could be so sensitive. Nevertheless, the gesture was appreciated.

"Um ... okay. Thank you, sir," Harm mumbled.

"Harm, whether you believe it or not, you have already been making progress," the doctor pointed out. "You may not see the light at the end of the tunnel yet, but the more we work together, the more you'll understand. Then, as you become better equipped to deal with the trauma and the feelings surrounding it, things will start to get easier."

"So, I'm not going insane?" Harm asked. *Madness is the gift that has been given to me.*

"No, you aren't insane," Parnell answered in his most reassuring voice.

*Inside where do I begin? My mind is laughing at me.*

"Even when my mind is laughing at me?" Harm's voice was beginning to quiver, again.

Harm's words were unsettling. Parnell and Chegwidden glanced at each other, then back at Harm, who had resumed rocking back and forth.

"Stay with me, Commander," said Parnell, placing a hand on Harm's shoulder, to focus his attention. "Tell me, Harm. What's going through your mind right now?"

"Nnnuh. No-o-o-o-o!" Harm howled, flinching away from the contact. *Touching you makes me want to die.* His eyes were wild, as he trembled violently. *Why won't you die? I will not die.* Harm began hyperventilating and he covered his face with his hands. "Why ... couldn't ... he just ... let ... me ... die?" he wailed between huge gasps of air. Vivid images were flooding his mind and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. *I will haunt you for the rest of your life.*

"Commander, you're having a panic attack," Parnell spoke quietly, but firmly, pulling Harm's hands down and gripping them between his own. "Look at me, Harm. He's not here; you're safe. Slow, deep breath, now, let it out, sl-o-o-o-w-ly. Again. Do it with me. Shhhh – aaaahh. That's it. Look around. You're in a safe place, Harm. Keep breathing."

Chegwidden watched in stunned silence, letting the doctor do his job.

Eventually, Harm began to quiet down. As his rigid muscles began to relax, his shoulders sagged and his breathing became a little less ragged. The doctor released his clenched hands, and he scooted back to the head of the bed, pushing his back against the pillow he had discarded earlier. He drew his knees up so that his feet were flat on the mattress. Resting his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his face with his hands. By now, he was completely wrung out.

"Please ... make it stop?" Harm beseeched.

"Talk to me, Harm," Parnell persisted. "What is going through your head right now?"

"That ... that it's never going to end ... He's still out there ... I ... I'm never going to be free of him!" Harm choked back a sob. He then looked down and around himself, his hands feeling behind the sides of his pillow. Finding what he was searching for, he produced the soft, plush, yellow, stuffed airplane toy that he had been given as a gift, and he clutched it to his chest. He began to rock again, just slightly, but he was calmer now.

Dr. Parnell looked at his watch. He still wanted to avoid giving Rabb more tranquillizers just yet, if at all possible. The worst of the attack had passed, and over-sedating him wouldn't really help anyway. "How are you feeling now, Commander?"

"Tired ... "

"That's understandable," Parnell gently assured him. Panic attacks tended to be quite frightening, as well as draining, for the person experiencing them.

"I just feel so ... damaged," Harm stated sadly. "I'm afraid that I will never *feel* safe again ... or normal." He looked up with bloodshot eyes, chewing on his lower lip, trying his best not to sniffle.

"You've very recently survived repeated, on-going, severe trauma. You are still in the victim stage and everything is still raw. You just have to give it time, Harm. It will get better; step-by-step, day-by-day. I think you have the patience and perseverance to work at getting better, and someday, you will get past this and move forward." Parnell's explanation made compelling sense and Harm wanted to believe him.

Harm kept his head down, blinking back tears and sniffling. "Damn it, I hate this," he said, barely audible.

The doctor handed him a box of tissues. "Sometimes, it helps to let it all out, you know. It's okay to just let go. You may even feel better."

Harm snorted and shook his head. "I can't ... I just can't right now." Even if he wanted to give into the urge to cry his grief and frustration out, he certainly wasn't going to do that with the Admiral there to witness it. His stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly.

"In that case, why don't you try to rest and we'll see about getting you something to eat. How about some comfort food? Anything you want," Parnell smiled.

Harm raised an eyebrow. "Anything?" He was being given choices here and couldn't decide what he wanted. It had been so long since he had to make choices.

"Uh-oh, let's hope it's something we can manage here," Parnell said, grinning. "You're not going to ask me for surf and turf, are you?"

"No, I don't eat dead animal, actually," Harm said shyly. "Something simple will do, like soup and maybe a grilled cheese sandwich."

"No problem," the doctor replied.

"... And some ice cream?" Harm looked hopeful.

"You got it, Commander." Parnell exited the room.

"Do you want me to stay, Harm?" asked Chegwidden. Harm shrugged, keeping his eyes averted. "Or I can go, if you'd rather. Your choice."

There were those choices again. It felt weird to have the freedom to choose. Harm nodded slowly.

"All right, then," the Admiral confirmed as he stood. "Is it all right if I come visit you tomorrow? I could bring some Chinese takeout, if you'd like."

"Um ... okay. That would be ... nice." Harm looked up with red, tired eyes and gave A.J. a hint of a smile.

"Very good, then," A.J. beamed, feeling encouraged. "Anything special?"

"Maybe some vegetable fried rice and ... and some egg drop soup?"

"Can do, Commander. Oh, and Mac has been very concerned. She'd really like to see you. Maybe I could bring her, too?"

"No. Not yet." The smile abruptly left Harm's face, as he looked down and began fidgeting with the stuffed toy that was held tightly to his chest.

"Don't worry, Harm. I understand," the Admiral said on his way out. "I'll see you tomorrow. Try to get some rest."

"Good night, sir," Harm replied timidly.

***

The following day, Admiral Chegwidden had been true to his word. Having left Headquarters promptly at seventeen hundred hours, he had stopped on his way to Bethesda and picked up the Chinese take-out order that he had phoned in.

After parking his SUV, Chegwidden was making his way to the wing where the Psychiatric Unit was located, when he unexpectedly ran into Mac.

"Colonel, what are you doing here?" he asked, the surprise and confusion on his face apparent.

Mac seemed a bit taken aback by the question. "Admiral, I just came from my appointment with Lieutenant Commander Vera McCool."

"Oh?" The Admiral did not seem to register what Mac was referring to.

"Um ... I'm sure I submitted the memo to you to clear my schedule," she said hesitantly.

"Oh! Yes, of course, Colonel," A.J. said, suddenly remembering Mac's appointment with a staff psychologist for counseling, one that he had insisted she make. He instantly felt guilty for first assuming she was here to try and finagle a way to see Rabb. "How did it go?"

"Dr. McCool is good. I really think she will help me to gain some useful insights. I'm going to be seeing her every two weeks, or as my schedule permits, of course, sir," Mac stated quickly.

"Very good, Colonel. Carry on." A.J. was pleased with Mac's positive attitude.

"Ah, sir?" Mac looked down at the bag in Chegwidden's hand. "How is the Commander doing?"

"No real change, as yet. I think he only tolerates my visit because I'm bribing him with food." With a small smirk, he held up the warm sack from which a delicious aroma wafted. "I'll be sure to tell him that you're asking about him, Colonel. That's the best I can do."

"I understand, sir. Thank you." Mac nodded. "Have a good evening, Admiral."

"Good night, Mac."

She watched as A.J. strode purposely down the hallway, then sighed and proceeded to leave the building.

A.J. hoped the food would still be warm enough to be tasty. The restaurant had packed it well, and he had made sure that plastic utensils were included.

Later in the evening, when A.J. was relaxing at home, he thought about how the visit had gone. He hadn't stayed long. Harm had been quiet and subdued, and he wasn't going to do anything to push him. He had to smile, though, remembering how eagerly Harm had eaten everything he had brought, right down to the fortune cookies. He had even gotten a grateful smile out of the younger man. A.J. formulated his plan. Maybe Harm wasn't ready for any other visitors yet, but he was determined to go see him every day, and he would be sure to bring some type of treat.

***

The very next day was Friday, and as luck would have it, Harriet had baked a huge batch of homemade oatmeal raisin cookies to bring to JAG Headquarters. When Chegwidden asked her about them, it was as though she had read his mind. She had already packaged up a separate container of the goodies just for Harm. The Admiral assured her that her cookies would be very much appreciated, which thrilled Harriet to know she was helping in her own way.

The JAG staff had been very good about not pestering the Admiral too much with questions in regards to Commander Rabb. On occasion, however, they couldn't help but inquire about him, wondering when he would be home from the hospital. It was difficult for Chegwidden, not being able to tell them much of anything, especially those closest to Harm; namely Sturgis, Bud, and Harriet. It was even more difficult for them; the not knowing leaving them to their imaginations, speculating about what all had happened to their colleague and friend. Mac, not knowing much more than they did, was particularly tight-lipped, avoiding the subject and even being around them, altogether. It seemed to be her way of dealing with the whole situation.

***

As the days passed, life in the outside world went on. Life for Harmon Rabb also settled into a structured daily routine. Even though he was kept busy for several hours a day in therapy sessions, not only with Dr. Parnell but with another therapist as well, and given specific 'homework' assignments to work on in between, there were still too many hours left to think. Harm would pass the time by pacing the small room, reading, staring out of the window, or dozing off for a few minutes at a time.

Chegwidden's visits every day had also become a part of Harm's daily routine. Usually, he came near the end of the day, though earlier on the weekend, and he was never empty-handed. Every day he mentioned that Mac had asked about him and wondered if she could see him. Each time Harm answered with, "No, not yet."

After a week had gone by, Chegwidden noticed an improvement in Harm's condition. He had not witnessed any more major emotional outbursts; the medications seemed to be helping, keeping Harm on a more even keel. Harm appeared to be stabilized and cooperative, expressing a strong desire to leave the hospital, to go home and get on with the business of living. Yet, A.J. felt a vague sense of detachment and even melancholy emanating from Harm. It was as though the spark that was Harmon Rabb was gone, and a different person was in his place, and it worried A.J. that the spark might never return.

On the ninth day of Harm's stay in the Unit, he was resting after lunch. He was sprawled across his bed, shoulders propped up by pillows, socked feet crossed at the ankles. A notepad and pen lay on his stomach. He had given up trying to concentrate and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back with a deep yawn. It seemed like only moments later that he startled awake, hearing his name being called.

"Commander Rabb?"

Harm blinked. Dr. Parnell was standing in the doorway. "Harm, you awake?"

"Uh ... yeah."

"You have a visitor. Feel up to it?"

"Who is it?" Harm asked with a frown, lifting his head. Mind reeling, he thought it was too early for the Admiral, and the thought of anyone else being here made his belly clench with apprehension.

"Clayton Webb," the doctor stated, then waited patiently for Harm's reaction.

Harm was indeed surprised and a little flustered. "Um ... I don't know," he shrugged.

"I think it might be good for you – to see him, that is," Parnell said encouragingly.

Harm understood what he meant. The doctor had been spending quite a bit of time with him, trying to convince him that he was making progress, that he had nothing to be ashamed of or feel guilty about, and that he was a worthwhile human being and survivor, deserving of care, patience, and understanding. Realizing that this was a test, Harm needed to prove that he was willing to try, that he could take a step forward, even if it was only baby steps.

"Okay," Harm agreed. Although he felt a little anxious about seeing Webb, he would show Parnell that he could handle it.

"Great. I'll send him in," Parnell grinned as he left.

A minute later, Clay appeared. "Hey, Rabb."

"Hey, Webb," Harm mimicked, noting how tired and disheveled Webb looked. "This is an unexpected surprise." As he sat up, the notebook and pen slid off his stomach and fell onto the bed. He crossed his legs in front of him, Indian style.

"Oh, really. Well, imagine my surprise to find you here, Rabb," Webb said, with his usual smirk and sarcasm in his tone. "When I couldn't reach you at home, I called JAG looking for you, thinking you might have been foolish enough to go back to work already."

Harm snorted with amusement. Clay was being himself and treating him as though everything was perfectly normal, and he liked that. It felt good, damn good. Chegwidden had been treading so carefully that Harm had started to wonder if the man had been taken over by alien pod people.

"I ... ah ... guess I wasn't ready to go home yet," Harm remarked sheepishly.

"When do you think they might spring you from this place?" Clay asked, suddenly serious as he dropped heavily into the only chair in the small room.

"I really have no idea," Harm shrugged. "I'm told I'm doing a little better, but ... I just don't know ... where I go from here." He studied Clay, who was rubbing his temple and stifling a yawn. "By the way, you look like shit."

"Gee, thanks, Rabb," Webb huffed slightly. "That's funny, coming from you. I got back into town late last night, and had a grueling debriefing all morning. I'm beat."

"You should've gone home to rest – didn't have to detour here, you know." Harm fidgeted with the pen and notebook that had been discarded earlier. "How did you find out, anyway? Mac?"

"I haven't spoken to Sarah," Webb sighed. "Like I said, I called JAG Headquarters. When I asked for you, the petty officer put me right through to Chegwidden. Anyway, I had to come see how you're doing; I can crash later."

Harm wondered briefly how long it had been since Webb and Mac had communicated, realizing he was a little bit surprised by Webb's comment. He then decided that she was probably just in court or out on an investigation or something.

"Thanks, Webb. It was nice of you to visit," Harm smiled shyly. "But you don't have to stay; I'm feeling pretty drowsy myself." He couldn't help but snicker slightly when he said, "Of course, I can blame the drugs."

Webb chuckled. "I *am* exhausted. Damn, do you know how comfortable this recliner is? I don't know that I could move if I had to."

"Then stay. I don't mind." Harm lay back down with his hands resting on his stomach, fingers interlocked, ankles crossed. He also realized that talking with Clay had actually distracted him from focusing on his trauma for a few minutes. "Go ahead. Close your eyes for a few minutes, if you want."

"Maybe I will, just for a moment," Webb replied. It had been a long, hard, intense mission that had lasted nearly two weeks. He looked over at Harm, whose eyes were already closed. They fell into a comfortable silence.

Harm felt the tension leave his body, relaxing into the warmth of the bed. It was nice not to be alone. Just having a friend that he could trust in the room with him made him feel safe enough to finally have a truly restful sleep.

A few minutes later, when Dr. Parnell came by to check on them, he found the two men sound asleep. Webb was snoring softly, his head turned slightly to one side, pressed against the back cushion of the large chair. Harm had curled up on his side, facing Webb, his face completely serene in a rare, dreamless slumber.

***

Meanwhile, over at NCIS Headquarters, things were relatively slow. The teams had solved a couple of urgent, back-to-back cases and were now wrapping things up and playing catch-up on paperwork. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs hated loose ends, so everyone was making sure to 'dot the i's and cross the t's' on their reports. They were all looking forward to an actual weekend off, unless a new case came in.

Gibbs had been at his desk, intently studying a file. "Manning," he barked, his voice cutting through a rarely quiet moment in the huge open room.

Special Agent Robert Manning stood, came out from his cubicle, and ambled over to Gibbs's desk. He had a laid-back, self-assured manner about him, his style was calm and methodical, and he was not intimidated by Gibbs, so unlike the insecure Anthony DiNozzo, or the stuttering, at times downright terrified Timothy McGee.

"What's up?" Manning asked.

Gibbs held up the file folder and kept his voice low. "This all you got?"

Manning nodded. "Yeah, this case is at a standstill at the moment. The victim ain't talking and, as you can see, we're no closer to finding where he was held or the identity of his abductors."

"You know I hate open, unsolved cases. Keep trying," Gibbs said in an exasperated tone.

"I will, but you're going to have to be patient ... "

"Oh? And why is that?" Gibbs interrupted with a steely glare.

"Commander Rabb is still in the hospital. In fact, he was transferred to the Psych ward, due to some kind of breakdown."

Tony DiNozzo's head shot up at the recognition of the victim's name and he began to listen intently to the discussion at his boss's desk.

"Why the hell is that not in your report?" Gibbs bellowed.

Manning crossed his arms and explained in a patient tone, "I had learned that information recently and was just finishing the update, only you have the file." He held out his hand for the file folder in question and Gibbs shoved it at him.

"Stay on it, and let me know immediately of any new information."

"Will do." Manning sauntered back to his desk.

Tony stole a glance over at Gibbs, who was scowling and deep in thought. Gibbs did not look happy. Unable to resist his curiosity, Tony couldn't help but jump in.

"So, would this be the same Commander we met last spring? Harmon Rabb, the JAG lawyer who was accused of murdering that female JAG Lieutenant?" Tony remembered that case well, not only because of the Commander's unusual name, but also the way he and Gibbs butted heads. They had even thought Rabb was guilty at first, until the evidence cleared him, and the actual murderer had been brought to justice.

"Yes, DiNozzo, one and the same," Gibbs said, merely confirming what Tony already knew.

"What happened to him?" Tony persisted. "Wasn't he the JAG's golden boy?"

'Not anymore,' Gibbs thought darkly. He knew the implications of this latest development for a military officer. It would almost certainly be a 'career-ender'.

"DiNozzo, you really do not want to know, okay?" He glared at Tony.

"O-k-a-a-a-a-y-y ... " Tony whined. His stubborn streak would not let him give up yet. He had to know the story. "But, boss, last time he was the suspect; this time he's the 'vic'. I mean, we kind of know him, ya know. Is he going to be all right?"

"I don't know, Tony," Gibbs replied, his tone softer. He shook his head. "It's too soon to tell. The Commander was abducted by some demented nut case; missing for nearly seven weeks, turned up at Bethesda in bad shape, but he has survived. Now, that's all I'm going to say on the subject. Don't you have some work to finish up?"

"Yeah, boss," Tony quipped. "But, I was wondering ... "

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs cut off Tony's train of thought. "You're not leaving here today until I have your reports and I've checked every single one. Got it?"

"Right, boss," Tony relented, turning back to his computer screen and the mess on his desk. "I am so on it."

Moments later, Gibbs answered the phone that beeped at his desk. "Gibbs ... yes, sir ... I'll be right up." In one smooth motion, he hung up the phone and was up out of his chair.

Once Gibbs had gone up the stairs and disappeared from sight, Tony looked around furtively. Caitlin Todd was still down in the lab, following up on a question she had for Abby. McGee was working at his desk, but that did not concern Tony. He wandered over to Manning's desk and leaned on it.

"Okay, spill," Tony demanded. "How did Rabb end up in the Psych ward?"

"Come on, Tony. It's my case, not yours," Manning sounded annoyed. "What do you care anyway?"

"I know him, well sort of. He seemed like such a together, in control type of guy. Just wondering what would drive him over the edge, that's all," Tony explained innocently.

"Shit, Tony. You're gonna wish you never knew, so don't go blaming anyone but yourself for making me tell you."

"Oh, come on, Rob," Tony scoffed, crossing his arms. "With all the bizarre stuff we've come across around here, I'm sure I can handle anything." His tone was confident. "How bad could it be?"

"As bad as it gets," Manning stated, glancing around the room and then fixing his serious gaze back on DiNozzo.

Tony leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You mean, like he was tortured or something?"

"Exactly," the agent nodded in confirmation.

"Damn," Tony let out a long breath, pausing as he tried not to let his imagination run wild with the possibilities. "Let me see the file," he said suddenly.

"No way. It's a need to know case. Crap, Tony, we're supposed to be discreet here." Manning was adamant. "Gibbs would have my ass – and yours."

"Okay, okay, just tell me the short version. What kind of torture?"

"You're not gonna leave me alone until you get what you want, are you?" Rob was ready to give in to Tony, if only to get him away from his desk before Gibbs returned.

"You know me," Tony grinned.

"Fine," Manning huffed. "It was mostly sexual."

"Huh? What was?" Tony looked baffled.

"The torture, you idiot," Rob lost his patience. "Three perverse psychopaths held Rabb captive for forty-eight days. He wasn't just beaten and whipped; he was branded, shocked, and mutilated. He was also raped and sodomized, repeatedly, somewhere in excess of fifty counts. Apparently, they didn't want him to bleed to death; so finally, they dumped him, unconscious, at the NNMC. He has no idea how he got there or where they held him, and we have no clue who they are or how to find them. That about covers it, DiNozzo. Satisfied?" With a harrumph of disgust at his own tirade, Rob turned back to the files on his desk.

"Fuck," Tony whispered a little shakily, thankful he was leaning against Rob's desk to brace himself. Unpleasant images raced through his mind as he processed the graphic information. "No wonder he had a breakdown."

"They really did a number on him. Anyone who lived through what he did would be a total wreck. He's badly scarred, and not just physically."

Tony honestly felt terrible for the JAG lawyer and he shuddered as another question entered his mind. "Hey, uh ... when you said mutilated, you don't mean ... you know ... "

"Castrated?" Rob finished for him. "No, Tony, they didn't cut anything off, if that's what you're asking. However, Rabb's doctors are afraid that the electric shocks to his genitals might have rendered him sterile, maybe even impotent ... maybe per-ma-nent-ly," he said, looking up at DiNozzo as he exaggerated the last word.

"E-e-e-w-w-w, fuck," Tony said, wide-eyed. He felt a sympathetic ache in his balls just thinking about the painful images his mind produced from what he had heard, and had to resist the urge to cup himself protectively right then and there. "Jeez, I can't even imagine if I had to go through life knowing my equipment was useless." Tony shuddered again; more disturbed by everything he had learned than he wanted to admit.

"I tried to warn you that it wasn't pretty," Manning sighed. "Now, could you go away, so I can go back to what I was doing?"

"You got it." Tony jumped and moved away from Manning's desk. "This is me, just going back to work, right over here," he said, stating the obvious as he walked to his own desk.

When Gibbs returned, DiNozzo appeared to be focused on what was in front of him. In reality, he was lost deep in thought, and was having trouble concentrating. Tony was unusually quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, cursing himself for not getting to go home early. By the time he finally finished his reports, he was one of the last people to leave for the day.

Late that night, Tony crawled in to bed, alone. It was even later before he finally fell asleep, and then promptly had a vivid and disturbing nightmare. Waking up abruptly, drenched in sweat, he threw his covers off and placed his hand protectively over his groin. Relieved to discover that his equipment was indeed intact, he lay in the dark, knowing he would not be able to go back to sleep anytime soon. The bad dream had left him a bit shaken up, and he uttered one word in frustration.

"Fuck."

***

It was another week before Dr. Parnell decided that Commander Rabb was stable enough to make another attempt at leaving the hospital. The combination of medications and intense therapy was helping Harm to get a handle on his emotions, and at least, he was no longer despondent. He had been learning a great deal; the information was helping him to gain an understanding of why he felt the way he did. Although still plagued by nightmares and flashback episodes, his panic attacks had lessened in frequency and he had been taught some basic coping skills to help deal with the troublesome symptoms.

Dr. Parnell had hoped for more progress, however. There was still so much that Harm could not or would not talk about, and they both knew he still had a long way to go. For now, the Commander was to remain on medical leave. The doctors would determine when, or if, he would be fit for duty. Until he was cleared medically, all he could do was work at getting better, knowing his career and his future were in their hands.

Harm was well aware that he would continue to be closely monitored. He was to report to Bethesda three times per week; an individual session with Dr. Parnell, plus two different therapy groups. Other than maintaining that structured schedule, he was free to do whatever he felt comfortable with the rest of the time. He had been instructed to avoid stress, not to push himself yet, and to take life at his own pace.

At the moment, however, Harm chose not to think too far ahead. He sat quietly, looking out of the car window and absorbing all the sights and sounds rushing past him. Clayton Webb was driving and they were on their way to Harm's apartment. It was mid-afternoon when Harm had checked out of the hospital. Webb had been there for him, offering to take him home.

"Thanks, Webb," Harm's voice finally broke the silence of their ride. Webb had kept his promise. After leaving Bethesda, they had detoured to the Viet Nam Memorial, so that Harm could spend some time at The Wall. It was a sunny day, though windy. The air was briskly cold, and Harm had looked around him in wonder at being outside in the fresh air and wide-open spaces. It had been so long. That, and standing in front of his father's name etched into the black expanse, had caused him to be overcome with raw emotions. Hot, silent tears had flowed freely as he stood there for an unknown number of minutes. Then, Webb had reappeared at his side and silently led him back to the car.

"It's all right, Rabb. I'm glad I could help," Webb replied, his first words since they had left. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Harm's building and parked the car. "We're here," he announced.

Harm smiled slightly. "You have a way of stating the obvious." He eased himself out of the car slowly, while Webb grabbed his duffel bag out of the back. By the time they had gotten there, it was starting to get dark. Harm looked up at his windows and thought he saw lights, deciding it was probably just a reflection from the street. He looked around and crossed the street to the building's entrance. Everything looked the same as before. It was he who was different. Harm had divided his entire life into two parts; everything for him was either 'Before Trauma' or 'After Trauma'.

Clay followed behind Harm, watching his awkward gait as he walked. As they went up the elevator, Clay showed Harm his new keys. "I need to show you how to work your security system."

"Okay," Harm nodded. "I still can't believe I'm here. I'm really home." He thought about how great it was going to feel to take a long, hot shower in his own bathroom and to sleep in his own bed. Stepping out of the elevator, they headed down the hall towards his front door.

"I hope you don't mind, but Sarah and I wanted to make sure your place was all fixed up and ready for you," Clay grinned.

"You didn't have to do that," Harm protested. "You've already done so much." They stopped in front of Harm's door. "Thanks again, Clay ... for everything."

"You don't have to keep thanking me," Webb shrugged, feeling almost embarrassed. Rabb had never been good at expressing gratitude for all the favors he had asked of him over the years, but that was before. Now, the abundance of thanks since Rabb's return was yet another change that Webb noticed in the man. He held up the keys. "Allow me."

As Webb prepared to slide the key into the lock, he stopped for a moment and gazed up at the face of the taller man standing next to him. The sentiment he expressed was warmhearted and sincere.

"Welcome home, Harm."

 

END OF CHAPTER 4

TBC in CHAPTER 5 – THERAPY: LIVING WITH PTSD

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	6. THERAPY:  LIVING WITH PTSD (Ch.5a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues the healing and recovery odyssey of the story arc. Due to length, Chapter 5 had to be divided into 2 parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING: FRAO (for graphic adult content: language, violence, extreme angst, hetero sex, references to m/m rape, etc.)  
> WARNINGS: Chapter 5 may still contain a squirk factor for some, due to references to torture, rape, etc. via flashbacks and frank discussion. (But not as graphic as Chapter 2.)

*******************************************

 

CHAPTER 5 - THERAPY: LIVING WITH PTSD

*That which does not destroy me makes me stronger.* (Captain Campbell, from 'The General's Daughter')

***

As Commander Harmon Rabb stood in front of his apartment door, his friend, Clayton Webb, went through the motions of turning the key in the lock, knowing what to expect.  
Rabb, however, had no idea what awaited him on the other side of the door, and Webb just hoped they had done the right thing. He pushed the door open, and with a hand on Rabb's shoulder, he stepped out of the way so that Rabb could enter first.

Harm was stunned by what he saw. A small group of people had been relaxing on the sofa and at the kitchen counter. Upon seeing him, they all rose to their feet, smiling happily.

"Welcome home, Commander!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Wha-? ..." Harm was rendered speechless, as he gazed wide-eyed at the faces of his Commanding Officer, Mac, Sturgis, Petty Officer Coates, Bud and Harriet. It was apparent that they had come here straight from work, as they were all still in uniform. He glanced quickly at Webb, who had come out from behind him and dropped the duffle bag against the wall.

"Don't look at me; Sarah organized everything, though she did have plenty of help," Clay explained with a smirk, his hand sweeping the air dramatically.

Harm's loft had been transformed, and he took a few seconds to look around and take it all in. Little colored light bulbs hung everywhere, along the ceiling, around the windows, all entwined with garlands of holly and pine. A large banner hung across one living room wall with the words 'Welcome Home' in red and green letters. In one corner stood a four-foot, fiber-optic Christmas tree, with its many, multi-colored lights slowly undulating and ever changing. There were even colorfully wrapped packages arranged underneath with shiny bows and ribbons. Lit candles arranged in various places lent even more of a warm glow with all the other lights and holiday decoration. Even the air itself was infused with a festive mixture of holiday fragrances.

"Wow, I can't believe you guys did all this," Harm murmured, glancing at everyone before settling his gaze on a smiling Mac.

Mac stepped forward and gave Harm a careful cheek to cheek embrace, whispering in his ear, "I hope this wasn't too much. Are you all right?" She looked into his eyes intently.

"I – I'm doing okay," Harm stammered, trying not to feel overwhelmed. The others walked up to him one at a time to extend greetings and well wishes, and he managed to keep an arm's length distance by way of handshakes.

"Not to worry, Commander," Chegwidden grinned. "We don't want to wear you out by overstaying our welcome. However, your colleagues felt strongly about you not having to come home to a cold, empty apartment."

"Thank you, sir," Harm said and looked around his loft again. "This is quite a surprise."

Harriet had waited her turn patiently and finally got the chance to see for herself that Harm was relatively in one piece.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Commander," she gushed, as she gave him a full, extended hug which he returned, albeit awkwardly. He leaned down to wrap his arms around her back as well, as they held each other. If it had been anyone else, he would have felt extremely uncomfortable, but since it was Harriet, it was all right. Eventually, she released her hold on him, looking up and scrutinizing him closely. "Have you been eating enough, sir?"

"Ah-ha, so that's what all those wonderful goodies you've been sending are for," Harm grinned. "You're trying to fatten me up."

"Just want to make sure you get healthy, sir," Harriet replied. "Come with me and I'll give you a tour of your kitchen."

Harm followed her meekly, looking a little perplexed. As Harriet and Mac showed him around, he came to learn that they were not only responsible for the decorating, but for the food shopping as well. Everyone had pitched in and Harm found his cupboards and refrigerator to be completely stocked. He wouldn't need to run out for anything any time soon. The cabinets were stuffed with boxes and cans, everything from staples to non-food items. The freezer was filled with goodies, as was the refrigerator; bottled water, juices, fruits and vegetables, dairy products, and plastic containers or wrapped packages marked with labels as to their contents. There were a couple of plates of snacks out on the counter; one with cheese and crackers and the other a mound of peanut butter cookies that looked homemade. It certainly appeared that they had thought of everything.

Harm also learned that Mac, as soon as she found out when he was being released, had hired a cleaning service that, under Harriet's supervision, had made the entire loft spotless from top to bottom. Everything was neatly organized, dusted, and polished. The kitchen and bath sparkled, and his bed had been made up with freshly laundered bedding. Harm couldn't help but think of how inviting that bed looked.

"How about a cup of hot, spiced cider, Commander?" Harriet asked, indicating the large pot being kept warm on the stove.

"Umm, okay," Harm responded automatically, as he was pulled back from his thoughts by her question.

"Don't worry, it's not spiked," Mac added.

In fact, Harm realized that his refrigerator was devoid of beer and he began to wonder if there was any booze in the loft at all. His doctors had warned him about avoiding alcohol, due to the medications he was taking. He wondered how anyone else could possibly know that, and it made him feel paranoid. He decided it was probably merely coincidence and smiled weakly as Harriet handed him a mug.

The smell of the spiced cider triggered a reaction in Harm. Memories of the night that his captor took him out of the basement prison slammed into his mind. The master had plied him with food and alcohol laced cider. Harm had endured the man's perverse sexual games throughout the evening, culminating in being taken upstairs to spend the night in his master's bed. Suddenly nauseated, Harm set the mug down on the counter a bit too hard, resulting in a loud, clanking noise. Fortunately, the sound startled him enough to bring his awareness back to his surroundings. His guests, who had been chatting amongst themselves, fell silent and watched him with concern.

"Harm, are you all right?" Mac was immediately at his side, laying her hand lightly on his forearm.

"I'm ... I think I need to sit down, just for a minute," Harm said distractedly, feeling woozy. Mac led him over to the nearest chair and he dropped onto it heavily with a long sigh. "I guess I didn't realize, in all the excitement, how tired I am." He gave a sheepish grin and added, "Sorry."

Chegwidden spoke up. "No reason to apologize, Commander. It's been a big day and you are looking just a wee bit peaked. I do believe this is our cue to leave and let you get some rest. I'm sure I can speak for everyone that we all hope you make a speedy recovery and come back to JAG soon. The place just hasn't been the same without you."

"Oh, I'll bet it's been smoother and calmer without me around to drive you crazy, Admiral," Harm chuckled heartily.

"Perhaps," A.J. smirked, then became serious. "But, make no mistake; you have been sorely missed. Now, you concentrate on getting well."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best." Harm stood up in order to see his Commanding Officer to the door, while Sturgis, Bud, Harriet, and Jennifer were gathering up their coats. The Yeoman Second Class presented the Admiral's cover and overcoat to him; then she said her goodbyes to Rabb and everyone else, and left. Sturgis, Bud and Harriet departed next, after exchanging warm, heartfelt sentiments, hugs, and slaps on the back with Harm as he thanked them profusely for their kindness and for everything they had done.

After A.J. donned his coat, he turned to address Harm once more. "It must feel pretty good to be back in your own place, Commander."

"That it does, sir," Harm responded.

"I know you're in good hands," A.J. glanced at Mac who was standing at Harm's side and Webb who was seated on the couch. "But, call me if there's anything you need and please keep me informed on the progress of your recuperation. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you for being here and have a good weekend," Harm said as he extended his hand.

"Colonel, Webb," The Admiral nodded at each of them, and they bid him a good night as he walked out.

Harm shuffled restlessly around the loft, looking everything over as if trying to remember when he had last been there. He took his duffel bag and emptied the contents onto his bed, then returned to the living room area. Stopping in front of the twinkling, cheerfully lit tree, he gazed down at the numerous gifts piled underneath.

"I can't believe this," Harm said, looking bewildered. "Where did all this come from? How did –?"

"Somebody thought that, since you had to miss the holidays, you should get to have Christmas now," Webb said, tilting his head pointedly over to Mac, who was going into the kitchen area. "Hey, it's only about a month late."

"It's not too much, is it?" Mac asked, suddenly concerned about Harm's reaction. She started to worry that maybe Harm didn't appreciate being bombarded by a whole group of people when he walked through his door. There was so much she didn't know about Harm's situation, about what he had been through. She couldn't even begin to imagine how bad those seven missing weeks must have been for him to spend a total of three weeks in the hospital. All she could do was to try and support him and be there for him now. Clay hadn't said much on the subject of Harm either, but he had been adamant that Harm not be left alone for a while yet.

"No, it's fine," Harm shook his head, looking all around. "Actually, it's ... very nice. The place looks beautiful, so clean. You shouldn't have gone through so much trouble." He gazed back down at the packages. "I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"It's all right if you want to wait and open your gifts in private," said Webb, as Mac walked over to Harm, carrying two mugs.

"Yeah," Harm shrugged. "I think I'll tackle that tomorrow."

"Here, you forgot your cider," Mac said, holding one mug out to Harm.

"Uh ... no, thanks. Maybe later," Harm replied, trying not to grimace. He sank into a chair and absent-mindedly rubbed his knees, realizing how tired he suddenly felt. He wondered how long Mac and Webb were going to hover, when all he wanted to do was take a long, hot shower, eat a small snack, and practice the relaxation techniques he had been taught, before collapsing into his own bed. "You know, you guys really don't have to stay. I'll be fine here."

"Nice try, Rabb," Webb smirked. "Although, you don't need two babysitters. So, after I review your alarm system with you, I'll be on my way."

A few minutes later, they were done. It had taken a little longer than Webb expected, but Rabb was having difficulty staying focused and it was something new to get used to.

"Don't worry about it, Rabb. If you have any questions or doubts, Sarah will go over it again in the morning or before the next time you leave this apartment.

Harm turned to Mac, his eyebrows shooting upward. "You're staying?"

"Yes, Harm."

"All night?" he squeaked.

"That's right. I'm taking the first watch. Why? You got a problem with that?" Mac's tone left no room for argument.

Harm's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut again. After a pause, he said, "I guess not." He glanced over at Webb. "I just don't want to get in the way of your weekend plans or anything."

"It's not a problem, Harm," Mac said firmly.

"Trust me, Rabb, there aren't any plans to interrupt," Webb said cryptically. He put on his trench coat and gave Mac a quick peck on the cheek. Then, on his way to the front door, he stopped to stand in front of Harm. "Listen, Sarah was there for me when I needed help ... after Paraguay. Let her be there for you now."

Clay patted Harm on the shoulder, and then the two men shook hands.

"Thanks ... for everything," Harm said quietly, as he gave Clay a return smack on the arm.

Webb simply shrugged his acknowledgement. "Call me, anytime," he said. Turning to Mac, he added, "That goes for both of you."

In the next moment, Webb was out the door and gone.

Harm couldn't help wondering how Webb felt about Mac spending the night at the loft. He had been going on the assumption that they were together, except they didn't act like a couple. Of course, he wouldn't have had any idea about anything that took place in the past few months. After Webb's peculiar comment, all he could do was speculate as to the true nature of their relationship. Not that it would matter one way or the other. Harm had convinced himself that there was no chance for Mac and him to be anything more than friends. Ever since Paraguay, they had barely even been speaking, and he had tried to move on. Even if she hadn't told him then that it was never going to happen between them, he couldn't imagine that she would ever want him now. No woman would. He felt damaged, scarred, and useless.

"Hey."

A soft voice broke into Harm's thoughts, and he realized Mac had gone back to the kitchen, and was now staring at him.

"You were somewhere else just now," Mac said, observing Harm's pensive mood.

"Sorry," he shrugged and joined her at the counter, eyeing the snacks.

"How about if you just relax and I'll fix you something to eat?" she asked. It was early evening, and she thought he could use a more substantial meal than just the tidbits and treats that had been set out for everyone.

Harm grabbed a couple of pieces of cheese and a cracker from a platter. "Well, maybe just something simple to go with this," he said as he munched on the cheese. "Is there any soup?"

"Oh, yeah," Mac laughed, as she opened a cabinet door. "Take your pick; vegetable, cream of mushroom, cheese and broccoli, potato?"

"Vegetable sounds good," Harm responded, and ate a cracker. "I'm dying to take a nice, hot shower, though."

"Sure, go get comfy and I'll have this heated up for you when you're ready," Mac smiled.

"Thanks, Mac," Harm said, returning a smile. He walked into the bedroom to clear off his bed. He felt more settled in after he had put away his things and stowed the duffel bag in the closet. He turned off the bedroom light before starting to undress. There was plenty of light from the rest of the place to see by. When he got stripped down to just his tee shirt and boxers, he self-consciously grabbed his robe and headed into the bathroom, all too aware that he wasn't alone in his loft.

***

Mac had come prepared. She and Webb had worked out, ahead of time, which of them would stay at Harm's place when he came home from the hospital. She had convinced the Special Agent that Harm should not be alone his first night home, but after that, they would see how things went, at least for the first few days. Her schedule for the weekend was clear and she, in her usual squared-away Marine fashion, had packed a bag and brought it up from her car earlier.

After Mac put the soup in the microwave, she pulled her bag out from the corner where she had discreetly stashed it. It was time to get comfortable for the night. As she heard the water in the shower being turned on, she stripped rapidly out of her uniform and changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a pink tee shirt with kittens on the front, which had been a Christmas present from Chloe. Matching fuzzy pink socks completed her outfit, making Mac smile at how 'un-marine-like' she must have looked. She retrieved a hanger from Harm's closet and hung up her uniform.

Turning her attention back to the soup, she contemplated the events of the evening. As far as Mac knew, she was the only person, other than Chegwidden and Webb, who was aware of the fact that Harm had spent the past two and a half weeks in Bethesda's psychiatric unit. She never did get to visit him there, and could only imagine how difficult it had to be for him to deal with staying there. Though she worried about how he was doing, she suspected that he was embarrassed by what he might have perceived as a weakness that he didn't want her, or anyone, to see. As much as she had missed him, she had given him his space and patiently stayed away. Now, however, she wanted him to have a happy homecoming to remember. Mac needed to show Harm how much everyone cared, that he did not have to feel alone, and that she would always be there for him and help him in any way that she could.

The soup was good and hot. Leaving the lid on, Mac decided to wait until Harm was ready for it before pouring it into a bowl. She couldn't help but notice how subdued Harm had been since his arrival home, and began to wonder if he might have been released too soon. He had appeared somewhat distracted and overwhelmed; yet he seemed to handle the surprise fairly well.

Harm stood under the spray of the shower, the water beating down on his skin as hot as he could stand it. He had lathered up with lots of soap, washing himself vigorously and repeatedly, yet never feeling quite clean enough. Thoughts churned through his mind on the events of the day as he let the hot water soothe his tense muscles in the privacy of his own shower. Harm had been relieved and afraid at the same time upon leaving the hospital, though with the help of his therapists, he was a little better prepared to do so. He had been anxious to finally come home, away from scrutinizing eyes. Then, the group gathered at his apartment had caught him completely off guard. The reception to welcome him back and wish him well was the last thing he expected, though he thought he had handled it fairly well. It wasn't going to be easy to act as though everything was normal, that he was actually going to be all right, when he felt anything but. He knew he was being paranoid, wondering what people were imagining and thinking about him, what had happened to him all that time he'd been missing. Only Webb and the Admiral knew a fraction of the ordeal he had endured. Harm tried to take consolation in the belief that everyone else assumed he had simply been recuperating in a regular hospital for the entire three weeks since he'd been set free.

Set free ... by his master, the man who, for a time, had had total control over his mind and body. The reality of it came crashing down on him. Harm had been positive that he would never be outside those gray walls; never see the light of day again. He still couldn't believe he was really here. Maybe it had all been a horrible nightmare, or worse yet, maybe he was dreaming now. Maybe this moment in the present wasn't real and he was still back there. Harm heard and felt the water flowing over him, taking him back to that night in the master's bathroom, reliving how he had scrubbed himself, dreading the end of that shower, knowing the master was on the other side of the door, waiting for him. The memory made him feel disoriented and dizzy.

*... Could you ever recognize this pain  
You see, it's so far from over  
After this you'll never be the same  
You know I'm choking on knowledge  
I will break you  
I will break you ...*

The master was still out there ... still waiting for him.

"Oh-god, no," Harm moaned, choking back a sob. In a state of panic, he suddenly opened his eyes. He looked around frantically, his palms flat against the tile wall to steady himself. Recognizing that he was indeed in his own shower, he made the mistake of looking at his hands. He stared at the dark scars encircling his wrists, and then looked down at his body; something he had avoided doing since he had entered the bathroom. The dark marking burnt into his flesh stood out vividly against the pale skin on his left hip. It was an all too real reminder that Harm would never be truly free; that monster had seen to that.

*... You will begin to cry  
Hearing the silence breaking  
You breathe, alive  
But you are alone again ...*

With his hands leaning against the wall to hold him up, Harm hung his head and let go. Hot tears flowed, mixing with the water washing over him. He wanted to scream, wail, hit something, break things, but instead, he suffered in silent anguish. His distress sapped all his strength, as he felt what little control he had slipping away. No longer able to hold himself upright, Harm leaned heavily against a wet wall and slid slowly down until he was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball.

Mac had been snacking, nibbling on crackers and cheese, as she searched for something more substantial to eat. Fixing herself a sandwich, she kept track of the time and thought if Harm didn't hurry up soon, she would have to reheat the soup. More minutes passed before she began to wonder what was taking him so long, but she didn't want to interrupt him or disturb his privacy. Knowing how she could get carried away in the luxury of a bubble bath, she figured he was probably just making up for lost time.

After waiting a while longer, Mac began to get more and more anxious. She could hear the water still running; this had gone on way too long. Coming to a decision, Mac walked through the bedroom and stood outside of the glass block wall.

"Harm?" she called out. "Everything okay in there?"

No answer. Mac listened and tried again. "Harm, are you all right?" Still no answer and she didn't see any shadow of movement, either. A sense of alarm gripped her suddenly as she thought about what the doctor had said, the words 'suicide watch' flashing through her mind. Surely, Harm wouldn't have waited all this time, just to come home and ...

Mac steeled herself, imagining the worst, when she barely heard a low moan. "Harm, I'm coming in!" Decisively, she peeked around the corner of the large, walk-in shower, terrified of what she might find.

"Oh-my-god," Mac breathed, half-expecting to see a lot of blood. What she did find, however, was Harm curled up on the floor, shaking violently. "Harm, what happened? What's wrong?"

Not waiting for an answer, Mac jumped into action. The water had turned ice cold and it was still spraying over Harm's trembling body. Mac shut the faucet off, grabbed a large bath towel and draped it over his shoulders, trying to cover as much of him as she could.

"Can you hear me? Come on, Harm, you're freezing, got to get you out of here." Mac kept talking, trying to get a response. Harm was sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around his legs. His face was buried between his knees. "Can you get up?" she asked him.

Finally, Harm lifted his head and shook it, his eyes glassy and red from crying. He managed to rasp out a single word. "No."

"Let me help you then," Mac said gently, as she leaned down and offered her hand to him. Harm flinched away from her, trying to curl into an even tighter ball.

"No." Harm refused to meet her gaze. His legs ached and he didn't think he had the strength to stand up on his own. He was so cold that he could barely move. "No ... don't. Don't ... touch me. Don't ... look at me. Just ... don't," he said, breath hitching between the words.

"I'm not looking at you," Mac said huffily, reaching for another towel and flinging it over her shoulder. "And you're not scaring me off that easily, so come on, flyboy, work with me here." Bracing her feet far apart for leverage, she reached down, took a hold of his hand with one hand, and hooked her other hand under his arm.

Harm looked up at her in astonishment, seeing her determination, and he gave in to the fact that he needed her help. His face twisted with raw, emotional pain. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't mean what I said."

"I know. It's okay," she replied soothingly. "Just let me get you out of here and warmed up. When I pull, you try to push up."

"Okay," Harm acknowledged.

Mac yanked on his arm with all her might as he struggled to get up off the wet floor. Miraculously, she got his six foot four inch tall frame to a standing position, and even managed to maintain her balance as he stumbled and fell heavily against her. Whipping the towel off her shoulder, Mac deftly wrapped it around Harm's waist and even tucked in the end snugly, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. He clutched at the towel around his shoulders with one hand, swaying slightly as he gazed down at her.

"It's okay, Harm. Lean on me, I've got you," she said softly. She had caught brief glimpses of various marks and scars on his body that cataloged the terrible evidence of his injuries, but she was careful not to react to what she saw. Mac took Harm's free hand and rested it on her shoulder. "Hold on and just let me take care of you."

As Harm stood there, leaning on Mac and shivering violently, she was all business. Taking the large towel from his shoulders, she proceeded to briskly and thoroughly rub him dry, starting with his hair and working her way down his arms and chest. Harm's skin felt cold as ice. His body hair was just beginning to grow back, and Mac suddenly realized what it was that looked so different about him.

"Cute tee shirt," Harm commented, out of the blue.

"What?" Mac looked down at herself and grinned. "Oh, thanks." She discovered that the front of her clothes had gotten fairly wet in the process of taking care of Harm. "Let's go finish getting you dry." Putting her arm around his waist, she allowed him to lean on her as he limped into the bedroom.

"Sit," Mac ordered. Harm sat obediently on the bed, trembling and watching her as she nonchalantly dried his legs and feet. Once she was satisfied that he was sufficiently dry, other than his still damp hair, she pulled the bed covers down, fluffed the pillows and even laid a folded dry towel across the pillow to rest his head on. "Give me your wet towel and get in bed," she said, turning her back to him and holding out her hand behind her.

Harm removed his towel, handed it to Mac, and quickly crawled into bed, pulling the thick covers up over himself. Meanwhile, Mac hung up the wet towels in the bathroom and then rummaged through his dresser drawers until she found what she was looking for.

"Here, put these on and I'll go reheat the soup," Mac said, as she held her hand out to Harm.

He realized she was handing him a pair of boxers and he gratefully took them. "Um, thanks, Mac," he said, fidgeting under the blankets to slip them on.

Although the loft seemed comfortable to her, Mac turned the thermostat up a notch on her way to the kitchen. Her socks had gotten soaked from the shower floor, so while the soup was heating up, she got her bag out and changed into another pair. Finding a small tray, she used it to carry the bowl of hot soup and some of the cheese and crackers to the bedroom.

At first, all Mac could see was a massive lump in the bed, covered up and visibly shaking with chills. Harm had curled up on his left side, facing where she entered the room. The edges of the blankets were tucked up around his chin, and Mac saw his face peeking out and watching her as she approached.

"This should help, but I'm afraid you'll have to sit up for it," Mac said, holding the tray. Harm pulled himself up to a sitting position, which caused the covers to drop down, exposing his shoulders, chest and back, making him shiver even more.

"I could use a tee-shirt, too," he murmured.

"Of course. I'll get it," Mac responded, mentally kicking herself for not thinking of it earlier as she set the tray down. Pulling a plain white undershirt out of a drawer, she tossed it to Harm and he tugged it on. Once he got situated, Mac placed the tray on his lap. "Careful, it's hot," she reminded him.

Harm had to smile. Mac was in full mother hen mode and, strangely enough, he didn't really mind. In fact, it was a familiar sort of comfort to just let her take charge. He watched her start to walk out of the room.

"Aren't you going to have any?" he asked.

"Don't worry about me. I've already eaten," she replied with a sly grin. When Harm rolled his eyes, she protested. "Well, I was hungry!"

"It's good to know some things haven't changed," said Harm. They both chuckled.

Mac gazed at Harm wistfully as he spooned up his soup, thinking that although so much had changed, some things hadn't changed at all. He looked adorable, eating in bed, his hair all mussed and spiky. At least his handsome face was untouched, and Mac found that she could still drown in the depths of those beautiful, sad eyes. She turned away, too saddened to watch his scarred, quivering hands as he fed himself.

"Where are you going?" Harm asked between mouthfuls.

"Not far," Mac said with a quick smile. "I'll come pick up your tray when you're all done." She figured that just because they were in close quarters, it didn't mean she couldn't give him a little privacy. He didn't need her staring at him while he ate.

"Oh, okay."

Mac went into the kitchen to wrap up and put away the leftover snacks, and then put the plates in the dishwasher. After wiping down the counter, she went around the loft, straightened up, and blew out the candles. When she returned to the bedroom, she found Harm had finished all of the food. The empty tray had been pushed off to the other side of the bed and he was lying back against his pillows with the bed covers pulled up to his neck.

"Is there anything else you need?" she asked, as she picked up the tray.

"No, this was great. Thanks, Mac. I feel better now." In spite of the hot soup, a chill passed through him.

"Still cold?"

"A little, I guess. Just can't seem to get these sheets warm enough," Harm replied a bit sadly. As much as he wanted to ask Mac to stay with him, he just couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Stay put. I think I know something that will help. Just give me a few minutes," Mac said mysteriously. She took the tray to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. Grabbing her bag from the living room, Mac headed for the bathroom. Her clothes were still damp from rescuing a very wet Harm in the shower and she was starting to feel clammy in them. She knew they'd have to come off and be hung up to dry so that she could wear them in the morning. After rummaging around in her bag for something she could sleep in, she pulled out a soft, cotton knit nightshirt. Upon taking off her tee shirt and sweat pants, she discovered that her bra had also gotten wet, so she had to remove that as well.

Coming to a decision, Mac quickly washed up and brushed her teeth, dressed only in panties, white socks and a powder blue nightshirt that reached to mid-thigh. As she surveyed herself in the mirror, she thought it would have to do.

When she came back out into the bedroom, she found Harm curled up on his right side, buried under the covers. Unable to see his face, she couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or closed, or if he was even awake. The bedroom lights were off, but there was ample illumination from the living room, enough to see intermittent shivers emanating from Harm's body.

Mac was on a mission. Harm, her friend and a man she cared about deeply, needed her and she knew the quickest way to warm him up. She just hoped he wouldn't protest. After all, it wouldn't be the first time they had shared body heat to keep from dying of hypothermia. Moving to the side of the bed behind his back, she quietly slipped in between the sheets and spooned behind him.

"Mac?" Harm was startled, and she felt him tense up.

"S-s-h-h-h, it's okay. I am NOT going to let you freeze to death on my watch," Mac chuckled. Carefully, she molded herself to his long body, her knees tucked behind his, one socked foot trying to reach and rub his feet, and her forehead resting between his shoulder blades. When she slid her left arm around his waist, he covered it with his own arm, holding her hand against his chest. She heard him sigh and she snuggled closer to him, hugging him against her body.

There was silence for several minutes. Harm was acutely aware of the full body contact between them. He could feel her bare leg draped over his leg, her fingers gently stroking his chest through the tee shirt, her warm breath on his shoulder, and her soft, full breasts pressed against his back. Under any other circumstances, Harm would have found the situation erotic, a fantasy come true. Right now, the warmth radiating from Mac was simply a much-needed comfort, and he finally relaxed, settling into her embrace. He thought back to the time several years ago when they were stranded in Virginia. They had spent a cold night in the woods after poachers had shot Mac in the leg, and he had tried to keep her warm. He decided now that she was merely returning the favor, a friend helping a friend, nothing more.

Harm finally stopped trembling. Mac was tempted to ask him what had happened in the shower earlier, but she thought better of it. She was beginning to wonder if he was still awake, when he shifted slightly.

"Mmmm, this is nice," Harm murmured sleepily.

"Are you feeling toasty yet?" asked Mac.

"Oh, yeah, much better," he answered. "You're so warm. What are you, part lava rock or something?"

Mac responded with a short laugh. "Oh, that's funny." It was still early, too early for Mac to even attempt to sleep, but she didn't know whether or not Harm would want her to stay with him in his bed. She would have to take her cue from him. When she started to move, pulling her arm back, he grasped her hand tighter and pinned it against his chest, tucking their entwined fingers under his chin. Without saying a word, Harm had given Mac her answer. Curled up together, they snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon of the bed. Mac lay in the silence, listening to Harm breathe and watching the patterns from the twinkling, colored lights in the living room play across the ceiling.

Once Mac was certain that Harm was sound asleep, she carefully slipped free and got up. After she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, she curled up on the sofa, laying a throw over her lap. Watching the ever-changing colors glowing on the Christmas tree gave Mac plenty of quiet thinking time. She couldn't help but wonder about how Harm seemed so broken and what kind of horrors he had suffered to bring him to that point. Realizing that he might never be able to talk about the secrets he kept locked inside, she was afraid that she might never understand enough to be able to help him. He had changed so much already, but she was determined not to give up on him or let him push her away. She finally felt ready to admit she was still in love with him and had been for a long time. Mac just hoped that she would know when the right time came to tell him.

Mac's thoughts then turned to Clayton Webb. They had bonded as a result of their shared experience in Paraguay. It had been a frightening, stressful time, and Mac had decided then that things just weren't going to work out with Harm and her. When Harm was out of the Navy, she tried to move on – with Clay. It seemed as though they were moving towards something, and then Harm had gone missing. Though Mac and Clay had become close and found comfort in each other, she continued to have unresolved feelings regarding Harm. Mac knew Clay's feelings for her were deep and she never wanted to hurt him. Now, she was relieved that their relationship was never consummated on an intimate level. Not that they hadn't come close a few times, she thought ruefully. As much as Webb wanted more, he never pushed her. It was as though he knew that Harm was still, and perhaps always would be, between them. Mac realized that Clay seemed to understand what Harm needed, as well as what she needed to do; he had already gracefully stepped back, as though he accepted the situation. For that she was grateful and she hoped that all three of them would remain good friends.

Mac sighed. When everyone was beginning to give up hope and it seemed doubtful Harm would ever be found, he had miraculously returned. It was maddening to her how little she knew about the circumstances, or why all this happened. It was beyond comprehension. All she knew was that Harm had been deeply affected and she would do whatever she could to help and support him. The future seemed so very uncertain, and Mac could do nothing more than to wait and see what each day would bring.

Harm had been sleeping for a couple of hours already. Mac sat for a while longer, before deciding she was relaxed enough to attempt sleep. Shortly before midnight, she got up and went around the loft to turn off the various twinkling lights until the place was in near total darkness. Once her eyes adjusted, she made her way carefully back to Harm's bed.

As Mac got closer, she heard small sounds akin to whimpering and realized Harm was dreaming. In the darkness, she could barely make out that he had rolled onto his back. She crawled up to him and felt his limbs restlessly twitching. A low moan escaped his lips as his head rolled to one side. Realizing Harm was in the grips of a nightmare, Mac decided she had to try and bring him out of it.

"Harm? Harm, wake up," she said softly, gently stroking his face. His twitching turned into thrashing.

"A-a-a-h-h-h-h-h!" Harm cried out, his eyes snapping open. He awoke abruptly to the darkness. All he could see was a dark outline of a figure looming over him; he could feel someone leaning on him, touching him. Completely disoriented, he thought he was waking up in his master's bed, just as he had before.

"N-o-o-o-o! Please, master, don't! It'll hurt ... please, no more!" Harm wailed, panic-stricken. He flinched away from Mac's touch.

"Harm! Harm, it's me, it's Mac," she said, anxiously. "It's okay, you're okay, I'm here."

"M-Mac? Mac?" Harm flailed in the dark until his hand found her arm and he gripped onto it tightly. "I can't see you. Why is it so dark?"

"Sorry," Mac answered, fumbling around and switching on a nearby lamp. The sudden light had both of them blinking several times as they stared at each other. Mac was sitting up on her knees, her legs folded underneath her. Harm, who had sat up, let go of her arm and wiped his face with his hands.

"Oh-god, it *is* you," he said, breathing raggedly. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead as he tried to shake off the bad dream. He looked around the room. "And I'm at home. I thought ... never mind."

"You thought you were back there, didn't you?" Mac asked gently. Harm merely nodded in confirmation, distressed by what Mac had witnessed. "I'm so sorry, Harm. You were having a nightmare and I thought it would be best to wake you up."

"'S'okay. I ... I'm glad you're here," Harm said shyly. "I'll be right back. Don't leave, okay? He slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Thoroughly embarrassed, he needed to temporarily escape her scrutinizing gaze.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," Mac smiled.

After Harm took care of business and splashed some water on his face, he came back to find that Mac had smoothed out the bedding and fluffed the pillows. She was relaxing under the covers, leaning back with her head and shoulders nestled against a pillow. Harm slipped in next to her and laid on his side facing her, realizing then that the bedroom lamp had been turned off, but Mac had thoughtfully turned on a small light in the living room. It served as a night-light, sending enough of a glow into the bedroom so that Harm could see where he was.

"You doing okay?" asked Mac, her face full of concern and caring.

"Better now, with you here," Harm responded, gazing at her intently. After a nervous laugh, he added, "I guess you figured out I'm having a little trouble with waking up in the dark ... and nightmares."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Uh-uh."

After a few minutes of silence, Harm yawned. Mac reached over and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, which earned her a small, contented smile. It wasn't one of his full-blown, flyboy grins that she hadn't seen in ages, but it was a start.

"You tucking me in, marine?" he teased.

"Yup, I am," she giggled, turning to face him as she snuggled down farther into the cozy warmth. "Now, you think you can go to sleep, squid?"

Harm snorted with amusement. "Only if you promise to be here when I wake up."

"I promise, Harm," Mac said seriously. She laid her hand on her pillow in front of her face. Harm reached over and covered her hand with his, closing his eyes. With only their hands touching, Harm drifted off within a few minutes and Sarah followed soon after.

***

Mac woke up in the morning feeling rested, having slept better than she had in a long time. Opening her eyes, she saw that dawn had broken and daylight was pouring into the loft's windows. She knew without having to look over at the alarm clock that it was zero-seven twenty hours. Lying quietly on her left side, she felt Harm's presence surrounding her and realized he had spooned up against her back, his right arm draped heavily over her waist, an ankle hooked over hers, and the top of her head tucked under his chin. He was still dead to the world, and Mac wanted to look at him, but dared not move for fear of waking him. Thinking back over the course of the evening and night, she wondered how and when exactly she had gotten herself into this predicament. Within a few minutes, Mac noticed Harm's breathing had changed.

Harm had woken up only once more during the night from a bad dream. Upon waking, he had found Mac sleeping peacefully next to him, and he had wrapped himself around her like she was a living, breathing security blanket. It succeeded in making him feel safe and relaxed, and he was able to go back to sleep. Now, as he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized just how closely he was lying against her warm body and wondered if she was still asleep. Not daring to move, he opened his eyes and found that his nose was practically in her hair, so he took a deep, slow breath, inhaling her fragrance.

Mac stirred and Harm froze.

"What are you doing?" she asked, turning her head toward him.

"N-nothing," he replied innocently.

"You were sniffing my hair!" she accused indignantly.

"No, I wasn't," he denied with mock, wide-eyed innocence.

"O-k-a-a-a-y," Mac smirked. "So, how do you feel? Sleep all right?"

"Actually, I feel surprisingly well-rested," Harm said, unable to remember how long it had been since he felt that way.

"Um ... we should get up," Mac said, trying to shift away from Harm.

"Awww, do we have to?" Harm nuzzled closer, not quite ready to face the new day.

"Yes, we do. What would you like to do first today?"

"Why, you got a game plan?" Harm's stomach chose that moment to growl – loudly.

Mac tried to stifle her laugh; she really did, but erupted in a fit of giggles. Harm, momentarily mortified, burst out laughing as well, until they were both gasping for air.

"I think the first order of business is breakfast," she said finally. "You want the bathroom first?"

"No, you go ahead."

"I'll be quick." Mac scrambled from the bed.

Harm watched her disappear from his line of sight. He knew he should get up and at least start a pot of coffee, but he just couldn't seem to motivate himself to leave the warm bed.

Mac came out within a couple of minutes, dressed in her sweats and pink tee shirt. She looked at Harm, who was lying on his back, hands locked behind his head, and staring at the ceiling. She was tempted to ask him if he was planning on getting up anytime soon, but decided against it, not wanting to seem pushy.

"I'm gonna go fix us a nice breakfast, okay?"

"Uh ... You really don't have to, Mac. I'll do it," Harm said, sitting up. He felt guilty that Mac had been doing all the work, while he did nothing.

"I don't mind," she said smiling, and headed to the kitchen.

After attending to nature's call, Harm threw on a pair of navy blue sweat pants and padded into the kitchen, where Mac had put on the coffee pot and was making scrambled eggs and toast. Mac nonchalantly observed him as he grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator, and then shook out a pill from the prescription bottle he had in his hand. Harm's appearance was completely unkempt, with uncombed hair and the shadow of unshaven beard. Mac thought briefly back to last night and what she had caught a glimpse of in the shower. The scars, the absence of body and pubic hair, and the mystifying 'M' shaped mark near his hipbone had thrown her for a loop. After swallowing the pill and drinking the water, Harm placed the medication container on top of the fridge to remind himself to take it every morning.

"I have to remember to do this first thing every day," Harm said aloud, glancing at Mac. She nodded, remaining silent, but Harm knew what her unasked question would be. "It's supposed to keep me on an even keel, but I'm not sure how much it's helping yet. I'm told that I would feel worse without it."

"It's okay, Harm. You don't have to explain," said Mac.

"No, I want to," Harm countered. "Paxil is an antidepressant, but it's also supposed to help with post traumatic stress. I have another medicine for panic attacks and to help me sleep when I need it, but I have to be careful not to get addicted. At any rate, as long as I'm on these drugs, Aviation Medicine won't clear me medically, and there's a chance I might never return to full duty," he said sadly.

Mac didn't know what to say. Harm looked awkward and lost in his own kitchen, but this was the most talkative he had been about his condition yet. The food was ready and she turned off the stove.

"I'm sorry, Harm," she said sympathetically. "I hope you know that you can talk to me about anything you want to and I'll listen, but if you're not comfortable, you don't have to explain it to me. Just promise me that if I can do anything to help or you need something, you'll tell me."

"Thanks, Mac. I'm pretty messed up from this whole abduction ordeal," Harm admitted. "So, for now, I just need you to be patient with me."

Mac put some eggs and toast on a plate and handed it to Harm with a smile. "What do you want on your toast?"

"Gee, I don't even know what I have, let me take a look." Harm opened the refrigerator door and perused the contents. Pulling out a jar of raspberry jam, he asked, "You want cranberry or orange juice?"

"Cranberry sounds good."

Harm poured two glasses and met Mac over at the table. They ate heartily. Afterwards, Harm brought the dishes to the sink. "That hit the spot. So, what do you want to do today?"

"Well, first, I'm going to use your shower, if you don't mind," Mac replied, getting up from the table.

"Of course not. Please, make yourself at home," Harm grinned. Meanwhile, he would clean up the breakfast dishes and the kitchen. "Then what? Don't you have shopping or stuff to do?"

"You trying to get rid of me? It's Saturday morning and I have the whole day free. I thought I'd go over your mail and finances with you later, but before that, you really should take a look under the tree and also check out your desk." With that mysterious remark, Mac disappeared with her bag into Harm's bathroom.

Harm quickly finished putting everything away and wiped up the table, stove, sink, and countertops. His curiosity finally getting the better of him, he wandered over to his desk. He had always kept his important papers and files organized, but now found himself trying in vain to recall how he had last left things, and wondered how his state of affairs ended up. There were neat stacks arranged near the corners, most likely items that Mac either took care of or needed his attention. Though never officially presumed dead, he had been missing for seven weeks, after all.

Sitting down, he noticed a red envelope on top of a thin, flat, black case placed on the center of his desk. With all the other things to focus on around the loft last night, he had never paid any attention to the contents on his desk. When he picked up the envelope, he realized the case underneath was actually a laptop computer. Opening the envelope, Harm found a beautiful Christmas card with a note from Bud and Harriet welcoming him back. The note also explained how Bud had gotten a new laptop and that he wanted Harm to have his old one. Even though it wasn't a new bought gift, he thought Harm could use it while he was recovering at home to catch up and reconnect with the outside world. Bud offered to come over anytime Harm was ready to set up an online account and give any other assistance needed to use this computer.

Harm was still sitting there when Mac came out dressed for a casual, relaxing day in a soft, red sweater and black jeans, her hair wet and slicked back. He looked up at her, struck by her natural beauty.

"Wow. I can't believe Bud gave me his laptop," Harm murmured, a little bit dazed.

"I know," Mac smiled. "He was so worried about you, Harm. He spent hours on research, looking for clues when you disappeared. He never gave up hope, even when the police and NCIS had. Bud looks up to you, you know, always has."

"I know," Harm acknowledged. "I really should call him." The thought briefly passed through his mind of what Bud would think of him if he ever found out about the things he had been forced to do and what he had become. Fortunately, Mac could not see the slight shudder that he hid deep inside.

"Tell ya what. Why don't you come over here, check out what else you got, and then you can do all your thanks later?" Mac suggested, holding out her hand.

"Um ... sure." Harm got up and followed her. After turning the lights on for effect, Mac sat on the floor in front of the little Christmas tree and patted the spot next to her. Harm dropped down nearby, sitting cross-legged.

One at a time, she handed him beautifully wrapped packages, and he would first read the card, and then open each one. From Petty Officer Coates, Harm received a handsome black leather wallet and he commented, "I sure could use one of those; that was very thoughtful of her."

His Commanding Officer had gotten Harm one of the latest new cellular telephones, complete with a prepaid service plan for one year. Clayton Webb's gift was in a narrow, flat box. When Harm opened it, he discovered a classy, expensive looking, gold key ring on top of an envelope. He opened the envelope to find a note and a very generous gift certificate to an exclusive men's store that specialized in leather apparel. The note was handwritten and contained a short, simple explanation. * You'll need a pocket to put this key ring in and a leather jacket is something a man needs to pick out himself. Regards, C. *

"This is just too much," Harm sighed, shaking his head. "He's already done so much, putting in this security system – "

"Harm," Mac cut him off. "Stop feeling guilty and just enjoy letting him ... letting us, do this."

"All right," he smiled feebly.

"Open mine next," Mac demanded excitedly, shoving a small, square package at him.

"Bossy, aren't you?" Harm's eyes twinkled as he took the little box and tore off the ribbon and wrapping paper. "You know, I'm sensing a definite trend here." He couldn't help but notice that, so far, all the gifts he had received were not just things he needed, but replacements for items that been taken away from him the night he had been abducted.

When Harm opened the box, he gasped with surprise. "Oh-my-god, Mac ... you shouldn't have ..." He was staring at an expensive, prestigious watch. It was an exquisite combination of stainless steel and gold and had a navy blue face with gold accents. "It's a TAG Heuer," he murmured as he admired the details.

"A 2000 Aquaracer to be exact, good to three hundred meters depth," Mac explained, beaming. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Harm was stunned. "This is incredible. I've always wanted a TAG. Jesus, Mac, this must have set you back a small fortune! I can't accept this – it's too extravagant."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I got a good deal on it and I want you to have it," Mac said coyly.

"I ... I don't know how to thank you adequately, Mac. I'm just blown away."

"Hmmm, I think a hug would do nicely," she hinted, grinning. "That is, if you're okay with it."

"Yeah, I can handle that," Harm said, leaning toward her with his arms open. Mac leaned into him, as he wrapped his arms tentatively around her back. She rested the side of her face against his shoulder and hugged him back. Though their position on the floor was a bit awkward, they held each other gingerly for over a minute.

"Thank you so much," he whispered into her ear. After a pause, he added, "I don't deserve all this ... I don't deserve you."

Mac pulled back and looked up at him. "Why would you say that?"

"You deserve more ... someone better than me... someone who ... who isn't ... broken," Harm managed to stammer.

"Oh, Harm, don't –" Mac laid her hand on his cheek. "I realize that you're pretty banged and beat up, but I'm not going to let you go through the healing process alone. I made the mistake of pushing you away when you rescued me in Paraguay, and if nothing else, I've learned that I can't bear the thought of not having you in my life. I missed you so much when you left JAG to work for the CIA., but at least I knew you were alive. You had moved on and I tried to do the same, because I knew I had really blown my last chance with you. When you came back to JAG, all I could let myself hope for was to be friends again. I still kept you at arm's length, because I assumed that's what you wanted, too. Then, when you disappeared, I was so afraid that I really might never see you again. I was filled with regrets at the misunderstandings, the lost opportunities, and the fact that I had never told you how I really felt about you." Mac took a deep breath, realizing how much she had blurted out. She gazed intently into Harm's eyes, hoping to gain a clue to what he might be thinking and feeling. "I'm sorry. You've been through so much; the last thing you need is for me to dump my insecurities on you. I just wanted you to know; no matter what happens from here on out, I won't push you away again. I will never abandon you."

Harm gripped her shoulders with his hands, realizing how much she had opened up to him, and he wanted to be honest with her, as well. "Mac, I don't know how much time I'll need, or if I'll ever heal. I can't ask you to wait, not knowing if I'll ever be able to give you what you need. You deserve ... a ... a whole man." Harm's voice was soft, but intense. He searched her eyes for signs of pity. He didn't want her to be with him because she felt guilty or sorry for him.

"I don't care how long it might take, and I hope that you will believe me when I say that I know what I need, and all I need is ... you. I know you have no reason to trust me after all that's happened, but please, don't push me away, either."

Harm wanted to believe her. Releasing his hold, he put his hands back in his lap. He looked down, focusing on the scars that circled his wrists. "What about Webb?" he asked, needing to understand where things stood. He had assumed months ago that she had moved on, and he had never had any intention of getting into the middle of their relationship.

"What do you mean? What about him?" Mac looked sincerely perplexed.

"Your relationship with him!" Harm said, flustered. "Where do you two stand? I mean, what would he think of you being here with me, talking ... like this? Never mind the fact that you slept in my bed last night."

"Oh, Harm, it's not like that," Mac replied, as her eyes widened with comprehension at Harm's line of questioning. "Though at one time I thought it might have become more, Clay and I are just good friends. I have felt close to him and he cares about me, but he knows that I'm not in love with him. He understands – " She stopped herself before she said 'how I feel about you.' Looking away awkwardly, Mac was surprised that the conversation had turned to such serious territory. Long moments of silence passed, as she avoided Harm's scrutinizing gaze.

The memory of Mac kissing Webb in Paraguay flashed through Harm's mind, and as much as it bothered him to imagine how far things had gone between the Colonel and the spook, he couldn't ask. He felt that he didn't have the right to ask such a question, even if he did think that Webb had never been the right man for Mac.

"I don't know, Mac. I still think you'd be better off without me, safer, at least," Harm said, looking down at Mac's hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "I'm all f- ... messed up, both physically and emotionally. I don't see how you could possibly want to be around me. So, why are you here? Why now?" Harm and Mac looked up at the same time and their eyes met.

"You know the reason," Mac stated solemnly, her dark eyes round and serious and shining.

Harm stared at her, memorizing the look on her face. Those words had been the very words he had spoken to her once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when he was unable to come out and say how he felt. Studying her eyes, he came to the realization that it was not pity he saw there; it was love.

"Oh, Mac," he breathed, leaning into her. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he pulled her to him in a fierce embrace. Mac clung to him, her face buried into his chest, as she rubbed his back, feeling some of the scars through his thin tee shirt. Harm pressed his cheek against the top of her head, and whispered, "Need you, need you so much ... but, I won't let you be put in danger because of me. I can't..."

"S-s-h-h-h," Mac soothed, pulling back a little to look up at his face. "Harm, I know you're afraid, but whatever happens, I truly believe that we'll both be stronger together than apart."

"I *am* scared," Harm admitted. "Scared of that psychopath still being out there, scared of never having my life return to normal, and most of all, I'm afraid of something happening to you. I couldn't bear that, Mac." Tears pricked at his eyes, as he fought to maintain a tenuous control over his emotions.

"Well, you don't have to do any of this alone, I've got your back. We'll deal with everything as it comes, all of it," Mac said adamantly. "I told you, I don't scare off easily."

"No, I suppose not," Harm tried to smile through the sad, stricken look on his face. "I mean, jeez, Mac, you've seen me naked. If that didn't scare you away, nothing will." His attempt at lightening the intensely emotional mood earned him a swat on the chest, as Mac rolled her eyes and huffed at him.

"Hey, come on. Don't talk like that. You will always be my brave and handsome aviator-slash-lawyer, and don't you forget it." Mac wasn't going to let Harm think of himself as ugly. As far as she was concerned, the scars on his body were merely skin and tissue, and she could see past them. She was more worried about the effect they had on him, reminders of his horrific ordeal, knowing the emotional scars would take much longer to fade. Reaching up with both hands to cup his thankfully unmarked face, her fingertips wiped away the moisture at the corners of his eyes. "Nice to know I'm not the only one crying this time," she said, sniffling, a tear tracking down her cheek as she remembered the first time Harm had left JAG to return to flying.

"At least, we're not saying goodbye ... again," Harm said, remembering their conversation on the Admiral's porch on the night of Mac and Brumby's engagement party. He still wasn't sure if he could protect Mac, or how things would work out in the long run, but for now, he would accept the fact that he needed her and she seemed determined to stick by him.

"Nope, you're stuck with me," Mac grinned, wiping at her cheek.

"You do realize you have to be strong enough for both of us, for a while anyway," Harm said.

"Yeah. That's okay, I can handle it." Mac cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

Harm grasped her hands, holding them between his own. "Mac, there is so much I need to tell you, but I can't yet. I don't know when, or even if, I'll ever be ready to talk about a lot of things."

"Don't worry. I can wait until you're ready," Mac assured him, observing how serious and intense he seemed.

"There is something I really have to get out before I lose my nerve," Harm said, pausing to gather his thoughts. This had been a morning of revelations and the time had come for him to be honest about his feelings. "I had a lot of time to think during the many long, dark nights of my captivity. I thought about the many mistakes I'd made and the regrets in my life. My biggest regret was the missed opportunities to find happiness with you because of my inability to put how I felt into words. I had always kept such tight control of every aspect of my life, especially my heart, because I thought it was safer that way. All I ever wanted was for you be happy, even if it was with someone else." Harm took a deep breath and Mac looked as though she was about to say something until he squeezed her hands. He was filled with apprehension at what her reaction might be, as he continued his explanation.

"Please, just let me finish. When I was convinced that I was going to die in that place without you knowing how much I loved you, I swore to myself that, if I ever got out of there alive, I was going to make sure to tell you. Then, after I got back, I didn't know what to do. I thought you and Webb had gotten serious and I didn't want to mess things up for you. I had pretty much chickened out on this whole honesty idea until just a few minutes ago. I'm sorry it took me so long to say the words, but I do love you, Sarah MacKenzie, and I have for some time. Um ... just thought you should know." Harm held Mac's hands up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of each one.

"Oh, Harm!" Mac's eyes filled with fresh tears at his profound admission and she threw her arms around his neck. Embracing him with her cheek pressed against his, she murmured into his ear, "You have no idea how long I've been in love with you."

Harm sighed with relief, finding peace and solace in Mac's arms, as they held each other for a long time without any further need for words. Mac's statement had surprised him; he had not expected her forthrightness any more than his own. In fact, the entire turn of events had not been anything he could have imagined. For now, he was content to focus on the moment and he would try not to worry about what tomorrow might bring.

Mac felt proud and reassured at how much Harm had opened up to her. As she basked in the wonderful feeling of being held in his arms, she felt needed. She began to believe that there was hope for them and for their future together. Mac would do whatever it took to ensure their safety and a chance at happiness.

***

Finally, after several minutes of cuddling and rocking together on the floor, Harm began to wish he had gotten cleaned up right after breakfast. Mac was nuzzling against his neck, and he could only imagine that his morning beard had to feel like rough sandpaper against her soft skin. Slightly embarrassed, he pulled away, afraid that she might want to kiss him before he had a chance to gargle and brush his teeth. Suddenly, he was stricken with worry that she might want or expect more than that, physically, which he was not yet prepared to deal with.

"Ah ... Would you excuse me? I really should go shower and shave," Harm said as he stood slowly.

"You sure? You haven't finished opening the rest of your presents," Mac pointed out.

"There's more?" Harm sounded incredulous, and he leaned down to see a few more items hidden under the tree toward the back wall.

"From Frank and your mother."

"How did-?"

"They heard what I was planning when they visited you in the hospital and they left them with me before returning to California. Clever, wasn't I?" Mac looked up at him, grinning.

"Very," Harm smirked, as he started toward his bedroom. "Shower first, then we'll finish this up."

"Aye-aye," Mac responded with a not so straight face. Harm chuckled and disappeared into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he was done. Clean-shaven, combed and feeling fresh, he had put on jeans and a charcoal gray, v-neck sweater with long sleeves that covered his wrists. Padding quietly across the floor in his socks, he saw that Mac had moved to the couch, the remaining packages stacked neatly beside her.

Mac had not heard his approach, unaware of his presence until he appeared in her line of sight, whereupon she looked up and smiled.

"First thing Monday morning I have to go get a haircut, before I deal with the I.D. card office," Harm stated, already dreading the ordeal. "I'll have to get my driver's license replaced, too."

"You could get the haircut over with today," Mac suggested. "Leaves you more time for the other stuff."

"I could," Harm said, pondering the option. He really didn't want to go out in public, or even leave his apartment. "Nah, I don't feel like going anywhere today; I'll just do it on Monday.

"So, where were we?" Harm grinned as he plopped down next to her on the sofa. Looking around the room, he noticed that Mac had already cleaned up the discarded wrapping materials and the opened gifts and cards had been placed on the coffee table. Harm leaned over to pick up the box with the watch in it. "I just have to try this on," he said, beaming happily.

"So, you really like it?" Mac asked, sounding a bit insecure. "'Cause if you don't, you can exchange it for a different style."

"No way. I love this one," he said, securing it around his wrist and admiring the workmanship. Every time he looked at it, he'd be reminded of Mac, that she had given him this extraordinary gift. "It's perfect. I ..." Harm's expression abruptly clouded over. "I feel terrible; I don't have anything for you."

"Hey, don't you concern yourself with that, after missing the holidays and everything else you've been through. Besides, I've already gotten *my* present," she said enigmatically.

Harm raised his eyebrow, waiting for her to explain.

"It's you, silly," Mac giggled. " You are the only present I could possibly wish for, and my prayers have been answered. You've come back and you're here with me, safe and sound. I feel like I've been given another chance for 'us', and this time, I hope I don't screw it up."

"That means a lot to me. I want you to know I really appreciate everything you've done for me and for giving me another chance, too. I'll try my best not to disappoint you." Harm's breath hitched, as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him once again. He hated the lack of control that he had felt nearly continuously since the night of his abduction, when every aspect of his life had been methodically stripped away. As he thought about the uncertainty of the future, he wondered if he would ever regain some of that control.

Harm stroked the side of Mac's face, his fingertips floating through her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed, turning her face into his hand to brush her lips against his palm. Leaning forward, Harm kissed her on the forehead before pulling her into another much needed hug. For the moment, he allowed the need to be comforted to wash over him, grateful for Mac's love and patience.

Though determined not to put any pressure on him, Mac was relieved to find that Harm seemed comfortable with this type of physical contact, as she snuggled into his embrace. After a few minutes of holding each other, Harm pulled back to relax against the back of the couch. Although he was smiling at her, Mac thought his eyes continued to hold a pervasive sadness and she could only hope that things would improve with time.

Reaching around to her other side, Mac grabbed an envelope and waved it under Harm's nose. "Come on. Let's finish opening the last of these," she said, her eyes twinkling.

Inside the envelope, Harm found a lovely card and heartfelt, sentimental note from his mother and stepfather. It also contained a gift certificate to one of Harm's favorite book and music stores. Harm unwrapped the next two packages that Mac handed to him. He found a soft, wool sweater in a warm taupe color in one and a magnificently thick, long, deep teal, terrycloth robe with a shawl collar in the other.

"They're both beautiful, Harm," Mac commented. "So warm and comfy looking."

Harm had to agree. Comfort and pampering seemed to be the theme since his homecoming. "I'm not used to all this attention. I could get spoiled, you know."

"Hmmm, who says you aren't already?" Mac teased, getting a smile out of Harm.

"Ha," he snorted.

"There's one more." Mac handed him the last package. It was a plain white, thin, flat box, the type that could hold a picture frame or something similar, held closed by a red ribbon, with a large red bow on top. "I was under strict orders from Frank that you save this for last."

After pulling off the ribbon, Harm removed the lid to find a document size, brownish-gold, manila envelope with a folded stationary note taped on the outside of it. Carefully pulling the paper off, he flipped it open to read the handwritten message.

*Dear Harm,  
Think of this as a belated Christmas gift. Your disappearance gave your mother and me quite a scare. I can only imagine what a difficult time it has been for you, so I tried to think of something I could do to make your life a little bit easier. Hopefully, you will take the time to relax and recover and that this will give you one less thing to worry about. If there is ever anything you need, please let me know. I worry and care about you as if you are my own son. May this New Year be the beginning of a bright and happy future for you.  
Welcome home and keep safe,  
Frank*

Harm found the words extremely touching and he paused to let them sink in. With curiosity taking over, he then opened the clasp on the large envelope and a stack of documents slid out. Mystified, he began quickly scanning and leafing through the pages of paperwork, his eyes becoming wider with shock.

"Oh-my-god," he breathed, his hand trembling as he laid the packet down on his lap.

"Harm, what is it?" Mac asked sounding slightly panicked. From Harm's reaction, she couldn't imagine what this was about; he almost seemed upset.

"This is the deed to my loft," he said, as he shuffled through the papers again. "The paperwork shows my mortgage has been paid off ... in full." Shaking his head, he added, "Not only that, Frank seems to have purchased the apartment next door so that I can use it as rental property for income, or I can expand this place by combining the two spaces.

"Wow. What a wonderfully generous thing for him to do," Mac said softly, as she placed her hand on his arm. "He must love you very much."

"I just can't believe it." He sat in silence, trying to gather his thoughts. "Uh, Mac? When did you say they gave you these packages?"

"Let's see, that would be the night before they left to go back to California, when you were in the hospital. Oh, except for this one," she explained, indicating the documents on his lap. "That came later by mail, addressed to me with instructions, probably because he needed the time to put everything in order."

"Oh-god," Harm said, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't been in contact with them. They don't know I've spent all this time in the ... hospital. Damn, they must be wondering why I haven't called."

"Well, then, I think you should call right away and explain it as best you can. I'm sure they'll understand."

"You're right, of course. Then, I should call Bud ... and everyone else, too, I guess," Harm sighed, completely overwhelmed by the thought of talking on the phone to all those people.

"Would you like me to get lost for a little while so you can have some privacy?" Mac asked, realizing the loft put them in pretty close quarters.

"You don't have to, you know."

"Tell ya what. Why don't I go run errands while you call California? I'll pick up a nice package of thank you cards for you to send everyone else."

"Wow, that would be great. Thanks, Mac," Harm replied with relief at Mac's perceptive offer. He marveled at how she seemed to be able to read his mind, and he realized that she was willing to take charge, to make decisions, and to take care of him. He thought, just maybe, it would be all right to put himself in her capable hands and trust her, at least for the time being.

"Need anything else while I'm out?" Mac asked, as she got up to get her coat.

"I can't think of anything," Harm answered, walking over to his desk. He turned and watched as Mac put on her coat and headed for the door. "Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?" Mac turned back and looked at him.

"Be extra careful out there, okay?"

"Of course," Mac smiled.

Mac had been gone for nearly two hours and Harm was beginning to worry. He had spoken with Frank and Trish, put some music on, tried on his new sweater, put away his gifts, and puttered around the apartment, straightening up. Finally, he sat at his desk, contemplating taking a closer look at the laptop from Bud. Just too distracted to focus on that, he finally decided to try and reach Mac on her cell phone. Relieved to hear her voice and realize everything was fine, Harm knew he had sounded more frantic than he wanted to. Mac had simply gotten carried away with browsing and shopping, and promised to keep him better informed in the future.

From the time Mac returned to the loft, Harm was subdued; in spite of the fact that she had brought a big bag with Chinese takeout as a surprise, which they ate as a late lunch. Though his appetite was good, it did not escape Mac's notice that he appeared quiet and moody the remainder of the day.

Together at his desk, they went over all the accumulated mail. Mac got him up to speed on bills, account statements, and anything else that had come up during the past ten weeks. It took a while, as Harm had trouble concentrating and paying attention. Afterwards, Harm wrote his thank you notes to everyone, while Mac wrapped up the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator.

"There's just one thing left for us to do this weekend," Mac stated.

"What's that?" Harm stood up behind his desk, rubbing at his temples.

"We need to pick up your SUV; it's still at the Admiral's house."

"Oh. Right. There's no rush, is there? I don't feel like dealing with it today." Shoulders slumped, Harm walked by Mac, who was stretched out on the sofa. "In fact, my head hurts. I'm just gonna go lie down for a while."

"Sure." Mac watched him sprawl across his bed, then got up to retrieve a paperback novel from her bag. Wondering what was on Harm's mind, she hoped he was just tired. Maybe he would be less preoccupied after a nap. With music playing in the background on the stereo, Mac settled down to read.

Over the next several hours, Harm dozed only occasionally. Too many thoughts and worries were going through his mind, so he just lay there.

He replayed the telephone call he had made earlier in his head. It had gone well, all things considered. He had to explain to both Trish and Frank that he had only recently come home and settled in, but convinced them that he was fine now. Expressing his gratitude for all the thoughtful gifts, Harm felt awkward about their much too generous gesture and had told Frank that he shouldn't have done what he did. Frank told him not to feel guilty and to just enjoy having a little more financial freedom.

Harm weighed his options. Realizing the security of having his home paid for did make him feel a little better about a very uncertain future. Not knowing how much longer he would be able to keep his job in the Navy, he knew he had to prepare himself financially as best he could. He realized how fortunate he was that his paycheck had kept coming while he was 'missing in action', and that Mac had kept everything so organized and in order. He decided to hold off on making any decision about what to do with the apartment next door. According to the paperwork, it had been vacated prior to closing, and all he needed to do was pick up the keys from the realtor's office. Once Harm could arrange that, he would check out the space. Maybe, some day, he would need the rental income, but meanwhile, there was no hurry to do anything with it yet.

Thinking about his financial security, his job and his future led Harm back to thoughts of what he still had, but also of all that he had lost. It was so painful to remember his captor's threats that he would destroy every aspect of Harm's life. He could not get rid of the images of his master's face looming over him, telling him he would haunt him for the rest of his life. No, Harm would never forget all the suffering that man inflicted on him, all the degrading acts he was forced to commit. Harm was no closer to understanding why this had happened, and he wondered bitterly if he ever would. His confidence had been obliterated and he wondered if he would ever feel normal again; to not be afraid, to stop feeling guilty and dirty, or to be able to look at his own body without shame and disgust, to ever be able to think about sex in a positive way, or to function as a man.

Harm's thoughts then turned to Mac and he became more depressed. What if he would never be able to make love to her? He was still amazed by their earlier conversation. Not only had she admitted her feelings for him, he had done the same. Now, Harm was afraid that had been a mistake; it would only make it harder to let her go. She could not possibly want to be saddled with him once she knew the truth, he reasoned. Though she deserved to know, he had no idea how he was going to tell her. Sadly, he remembered the pact they had made less than five years ago about going halves on a baby if neither one of them were involved with someone else. Harm knew he had to tell her that he might not be able to fulfill that promise. This, more than anything, filled him with a profound sadness. He couldn't actually envision any kind of future with Mac, at least not beyond a friendship type of love. He was afraid that he would still end up alone, and that was difficult to accept.

Harm thought about the very real possibility that the master had indeed won, and that made him angry. Before his release, he had imagined the worst, that his colleagues and everyone he knew would find out what he had done and turn their backs on him in disgust, and that he would be kicked out of the Navy in disgrace. At least, that hadn't happened; everyone was being understanding and supportive. Of course, they didn't know the terrible details of his ordeal. Even so, Harm could not envision going back to work and resuming his career where it had left off, like nothing had happened. It was going to be difficult just to cope with the daily challenge of living, and in that way, the master had succeeded in his vengeful plan to destroy Harm's life.

Everything had changed. Harm felt completely different now. Where he used to be self-assured, he now was fraught with anxieties and doubts. He felt shame, guilt and disgust, even though, intellectually, he knew what happened to him wasn't his fault. The helplessness and loss of control had made him feel weak and powerless. He felt more like a victim than a survivor, unable to prevent the intrusive memories from flooding his mind so much of the time. Realizing that he would have to give the psychotherapy time and a chance to work, he decided that he needed to focus on that and to start regaining control over certain aspects of his life, one small piece at a time.

Lost in his thoughts, Harm had paid no attention to how much time had passed. Though his eyes were closed, he hadn't really slept, just felt a lethargic drowsiness. For a while, he had even forgotten that Mac was there in the apartment. There had been the constant, soothing sound of music softly playing, but he just now noticed it. Rolling over onto his left side, he opened his eyes and gazed out into the living area, where Mac was curled up on the couch with a book.

Watching her, Harm still found it miraculous that she was even a part of his life. Even before his abduction, it had been a rough year. Their friendship had been severely tested since Paraguay and his subsequent stint with the CIA, and things were still strained between them upon his return to JAG, which was shortly before his disappearance. At the time, it had seemed that they had irreparably drifted apart. Reviewing their earlier conversation, Harm had to admit that if there was anything good to come out of his horrific trauma, it was that it brought Mac and him closer together. This development and the way they had opened up about their feelings for each other was the last thing Harm could have expected. Mac had shown a caring and nurturing side in response to his vulnerability, but Harm couldn't help but wonder if that was because of his traumatic experience, or in spite of it. That, and his doubts about whether Mac would really understand if she knew the whole truth, left him feeling quite insecure about her intentions. Harm didn't know when or how he would bring it up, only that they would need to talk more, soon.

Just at that moment, Mac chose to look up from her book to check on Harm and caught him staring at her. Seeing he was awake, she flashed him a sweet smile and put her book down.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess," Harm shrugged.

"Did you sleep any?" Mac stood up and walked over to the bedroom.

"Nah, not really," he sighed. "Sorry for being such lousy company."

"It's quite all right," Mac said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reached over and smoothed her fingers across Harm's forehead in a soothing, affectionate gesture. "Still got that headache?"

"No, it's fine. I'm just tired, got a lot on my mind."

"That's understandable. Want to talk about anything?" Mac pulled her hand back, but Harm caught it in his and held it.

"Not yet. I need a little more time to work things out in my head." Harm gazed intently at her, his face so serious.

Mac smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "Okay. Would you rather be left alone?"

Harm hesitated, staring at her longingly. "No. Please..." he tugged at her hand.

Mac realized instantly what Harm needed and she lay down next to him, shifting so that he could wrap his arms around her. As he pulled her against his chest, she nuzzled into his shoulder and rubbed his back with her free hand. They held each other for a few minutes until Mac felt Harm relax under her gentle stroking. He began running his fingers through her hair, his cheek resting on her head as they snuggled.

"M-m-m-m, feels nice," Mac murmured against Harm's neck. When she tipped her head back to look up at him, their faces were barely two inches apart.

Harm blinked at her. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

A hint of a smile graced her lips as her eyes locked with his and she leaned slightly forward. Slowly, Harm bent his head down until his lips brushed gently against hers. It was a tentative kiss, and as Mac closed her eyes and responded to the sweet touch of his lips, Harm suddenly pulled back. Mac's eyes flew open, but Harm's expression was unreadable.

"What's wrong?"

"Sorry, I – I probably shouldn't have done that," he stammered shyly.

"It's okay, really. I have a feeling that I'm more comfortable with you than you are with me," Mac said matter-of-factly.

"It's not fair to you that I'm not ready for more," Harm whined, frustrated. "I don't want to lead you on and I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Harm, do you trust me?"

"With my life," he answered fervently.

"Then, don't be afraid to be affectionate with me." Mac was stroking his arm reassuringly as she spoke. "We can take this at your pace, as slow as you want. I'll take my cues from you, if or when you're ready. In fact, we can use a code, a safe word system, if you will."

"You mean like red light or something?"

"Exactly," Mac grinned. "If I make you feel really uncomfortable in a situation and you need me to stop immediately, just say 'red light'."

"Well, I'll try to use it only when I'm seriously freaked out, or when I feel a panic attack coming on," Harm said thoughtfully.

"That would be good," Mac replied. "And you could use 'yellow light', too, when you feel a little overwhelmed or just need to pause and slow things down."

"That could work," Harm said, as an expression of relief washed over his face. He crushed her to him, burying his face in the warm, soft hollow of her neck. "Ah, Mac, what would I do without you?" His voice was muffled against her skin.

"Hmmm, are you expecting an answer, or was that a rhetorical question?" Mac teased.

"Never mind." Harm snorted, rolling his eyes. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Eighteen fifty two. You hungry?"

"Is there any of that egg drop soup left?"

"Yeah," Mac chuckled. She reached up and planted a kiss on the tip of Harm's nose, making an exaggerated smooching sound, and then rolled off the bed. "Come on, let's eat."

As Harm got up to follow her, he thought maybe tomorrow he would find the courage to tell her what he needed to tell her.

***

Sunday morning found Harm drifting somewhere between not quite sleeping and not fully awake. As he became aware of Mac's warm presence, he thought about the fact that he *liked* waking up with her next to him. He opened his eyes and studied her face as she slept, aware of how she was snuggled against his side, her leg thrown over his, and her hand resting on his shoulder. Last night, he had needed to take medication before he could relax enough to fall asleep initially, but it seemed to him he was sleeping better just by having Mac there with him. Mac appeared to be sleeping better, as well, in spite of having a history of chronic insomnia.

Just as Harm was beginning to wonder what time it was, the telephone rang, breaking the peaceful quiet of the morning and startling him. Mac's eyes popped open; she was instantly alert.

"Who the hell would be calling here on a Sunday morning?" he groaned, as he rolled over and sat up to grab the phone from the nightstand. "Hello?"

~"Rabb, is Sarah there with you?"~

"Well, good morning to you, too, Webb," Harm replied grumpily, noting Clay's abrupt tone. The man sounded highly stressed.

~"Just answer the question. It's extremely important or I wouldn't be bothering you."~

"Yeah, she's right here. Why?"

~"Listen carefully. Whatever you do, do NOT open your front door. In fact, get as far away from it as possible. Go hide in your shower or something."~

"What are you talking about?" Harm asked, baffled by Webb's mysterious instructions.

~"There's a suspicious looking cardboard box in front of your door. Look, I'm on my way over and I've called the bomb squad. We're taking every precaution."~

"The bomb squad!?!" Harm glanced over at Mac, who immediately jumped up out of the bed.

~"Can't be too careful, Rabb. Now, just sit tight and I'll call you back when the coast is clear."~

Harm was both astonished and bewildered. "How do you know about-?"

~"Just happened to check the surveillance camera in the hallway outside your place."~

"Surveillance camera?"

~"Yeah. I thought I told you about that. Have Sarah explain it to you; I gotta go."~

With that, Webb broke the connection. Harm stared at Mac as he hung up his phone.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking wide-eyed with confusion.

"Webb is coming here with a bomb squad. It seems there is some kind of package outside my door," Harm replied, putting on his new robe. "He said he could see it on camera. I guess I just don't remember him mentioning that part when we reviewed the security system."

Mac grabbed her sweatpants and hastily pulled them on under her nightshirt. "Webb has had monitoring equipment in the hallway to your apartment ever since your disappearance. It's tied in with your system here, as well. Come on, I'll show you," Mac explained patiently, and walked out to the living room.

"Mac, stay away from the door!" Harm yelled anxiously. Mac was standing in front of the system's operational panel that had been installed into the living room wall. It contained a keypad, various other buttons and lights, a digital readout screen, and also a small video monitor and speaker. She pressed something and the screen flickered to life, showing a black and white view of the hallway and Harm's front door. There was indeed a box sitting on the floor. This was definitely better than a peephole as Harm could clearly see if anyone were to approach his door. Harm vaguely recalled the Webb's demonstration of this feature that first night at home, but he didn't connect that Webb had the ability to monitor this view as well.

"Come on, Webb said to go wait in the bathroom," Harm said, taking Mac by the arm. "You can show me later." They left the screen on, so they could see and hear if anything was going on outside. Harm used the bathroom while Mac waited behind his glass block wall in the shower. When he was finished, they switched places, and while Mac was in the bathroom, Harm ventured out into his bedroom. He was nervous and fidgety, so he put that energy into making the bed, all the while stealing glances at the picture on the security panel.

Within a few minutes, Webb arrived, staying at the far end of the hallway. Harm could hear voices, thanks to the audio activated on the security system. Webb disappeared again, but Harm could see two bomb experts in full gear come into view.

Harm would not let Mac come out, although he positioned himself to watch the proceedings from the bedroom, ready to dive behind the shower wall in a split-second if necessary. Mac demanded to know what was happening and had to settle for Harm's play-by-play account.

"Where's Webb?" asked Mac.

"They made him leave," Harm answered. He watched as they used some kind of remote, robotic scanning equipment to determine if the package contained any explosive devices or materials. Shortly thereafter, the 'all clear' was given, and the two men approached the box. "I guess it's safe to come out now," Harm said to Mac.

Webb reappeared and took over. The fact that the package had no address or markings of any kind still made it suspicious. The officers had wanted to open the box and examine the contents to be sure that there was no danger of any type, but Webb didn't want them to touch it.

"I'm taking it to Langley to examine the contents and to have everything dusted for prints," Webb explained, as he carefully picked up the package with gloved hands. Moments later Harm flung the front door open.

"I want to see what's in the box," Harm demanded.

Webb quirked an eyebrow at the sight of Harm standing there in a robe looking flustered. "I thought I told you to stay put until I called."

"We saw and heard everything on the monitor," Harm shrugged. Webb noticed that Mac had come up behind Harm at the doorway.

"Look, as soon as I get this checked out, I'll bring it back to you," Webb said. "I also have to scan through the camera footage to find out how and when this box got here."

"You think it's from *him*, don't you?" Harm asked softly.

"Well, this could be perfectly innocent, but, yeah, that would be my guess. I'll let you know a.s.a.p." With that, Webb took off with the two bomb squad technicians in tow.

Since the excitement was over for the moment, Harm closed and locked the door.

"Damn it. I suppose it will be a while before we hear anything from Webb," Harm sighed, exasperated. "Might as well grab a shower, unless you want it first."

"No, that's all right. You go ahead." Mac wondered what was going through Harm's mind. So far, the morning had been quite unsettling, and she hoped that they wouldn't have to wait too long for Webb to return with some answers.

As it turned out, they waited and heard nothing for the rest of the day. With each passing hour, Harm became more irritable and distracted. By the time a knock finally came at the door, it was nearly dark outside. Harm was rummaging around in the kitchen, so Mac checked the monitor. Seeing that it was Webb, she let him in.

Webb entered the loft, carrying the mysterious cardboard box, except it was now evident that it had been carefully cut open. "Sorry it took so long," he offered.

"Why didn't you call us back? We left a couple messages on your cell." Harm was beyond impatient at this point.

"Been tied up and, besides, there was nothing to report until the NCIS lab was finished," Webb shrugged. "I had called Manning and he brought in their whiz kid, an Abby Sciuto. She's supposed to be very good, went over everything with a fine-tooth comb, but even she couldn't work a miracle. There are no prints and no trace of DNA other than yours." Webb set the box on the dining table.

"My DNA?" Harm was too startled to ask anything else.

"Yes. After all, they do have it on file from that whole Singer investigation."

"Of course. How could I forget that?" Harm said bitterly at the memory of being accused and locked up for murder less than a year ago. "So, what's in the box?" Harm moved toward the table, needing to know what the mysterious package contained that had his DNA on it.

Webb held out his arm to stop Harm. "Before you look, you should know that it *was* from your ... uh ... captor, and he was very careful not to leave the kind of evidence we need to trace anything back to him. Basically, it's all your stuff from when you were taken, but there's also a note." He paused to glance at Mac and then looked back at Harm. "You might want to do this in private."

Harm froze for a few moments, searching Clay's eyes, paralyzed with indecision. "No," he said finally. "No, it's all right." He looked over at Mac with all the love and trust he could muster. "You can both stay."

Moving to stand next to Harm, Mac laid her hand on his back and rubbed it reassuringly. Harm took a deep breath and pulled the flaps of the top of the box out of the way, peering inside.

The items of clothing that he had been wearing that fateful night had been neatly refolded after Abby had run her tests. Harm's shoes were in a clear plastic bag on top of the clothes. His wallet, cell phone and set of keys were in another plastic bag. On top of it all lay a white sheet of paper, folded in half. Ignoring the note for the moment, Harm picked up the bag and emptied the contents out onto the table.

"Remind me to have the phone service cancelled," he said to Mac.

"Already taken care of, remember?" Mac reminded him gently. "I waited until you were found, hoping that if you had a way of getting to your phone, you'd try to contact someone. Once you were in the hospital, I assumed the phone was long gone and I closed that account."

"Thanks, Mac," Harm murmured, picking up his wallet. There was nothing missing, even the cash he had had on him that night was all there. He took everything out of the wallet and laid the items next to his keys. "Well, at least I won't have to go through the hassle of getting new ID cards and license," he stated, relieved by that one small favor.

Harm tossed the empty wallet and the phone back into the box and removed the note. He didn't even look at his clothing. "I don't want any of this, Webb. Do me a favor and take it away. Burn it for all I care."

Webb merely nodded. He understood that Harm wouldn't want to keep any of these things. They would only serve as more reminders of what he had suffered, and he already had enough to last him a lifetime. Harm turned and walked away to read the note. Mac was tempted to follow, but one look and a slight shake of the head from Clay prompted her to sit down at the table instead. Clay did the same, and they watched Harm across the other side of the large, open room, standing at one of the windows.

Harm began to read the typed message.

*My Dear Sweet Boy,  
I just thought I'd let you know that I'm letting you go. You'll have nothing to fear from me as long as you remember our deal. Keep my identity secret and don't try to find me and you'll be safe to go on with your life – what's left of it. I never imagined that I would miss you this much. You were my favorite pet and my greatest achievement. I will always have the memories of our time together. I wonder if you think of me as often as I think of you. I will never forget you, just as I know you'll never forget me either.  
I remain always,  
Your Master*

Harm crumpled the note in his fist. "Sick bastard," he said, trembling. Head hanging, he stood at the window for several moments longer in silence. Finally, he looked up, meeting Clay's concerned gaze.

"I suppose you've read this," Harm said, as he walked over and threw the crumpled ball of paper into the box.

"Yes, I have," Webb confirmed.

"As well as NCIS," Harm assumed. "I really wish you hadn't brought it to them."

"It was necessary, Rabb." Webb made no apology for his actions, although he did feel bad that Harm was in distress.

Harm slumped visibly in defeat. "That son-of-a-bitch is right, though."

"What about?" asked Mac.

"He knows he succeeded; he's going to haunt me forever," he replied sadly. When Harm looked away, Mac could see tears welling up in his eyes.

"Oh, Harm, don't," she said, as she stood up. "You're not going to give up and we won't let him win." Mac opened her arms to hug him, as he fought not to give in to his despair. Finally, he slumped against her, lowering his head to her shoulder as she held onto him. With one hand stroking his back and the other hand cupping the back of his neck, she soothed him.

Webb watched awkwardly, but when Mac looked over at him in a silent plea for help, he stood up and approached them.

"Come on, Harm," Clay said, feeling somewhat useless. "Let's go sit down, okay?" he added, patting Harm on the shoulder. Together, he and Mac guided Harm to the couch.

Harm dropped with a sigh, as Mac and Clay sat on either side of him. He couldn't take the expressions of pity on their faces any longer without the risk of falling apart in front of them.

"Look, I appreciate your support and everything, but I really want to be alone right now," Harm said, addressing them both.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Mac asked, worried about leaving him to fend for himself.

"I just need some time to myself. Please, I'll be fine," Harm said insistently. "Besides, you have to go back to work tomorrow, so I might as well start getting used to being on my own, right?"

"He's right, Sarah," Webb agreed with Harm's rationale.

"Well, all right," Mac acquiesced, hesitantly. "Actually, you can help me run an errand."

"No problem, on the condition you let me take you out to dinner." Clay turned to Harm. "You're welcome to join us."

"No, thanks, you two go ahead." Harm stayed where he was as Clay and Mac stood up to leave. "Webb, I need a favor."

"Ah, now *that's* the Rabb I used to know," Webb smirked, teasing Harm. "What is it?"

"Stop trying to figure out who that psycho is or trying to find him. If you persist and piss him off, he'll come after Mac. The only way to ensure our safety is to just let it go."

"I don't think you have to worry so much; he's too good at covering his tracks. I doubt we'll ever find him," Webb admitted with resignation. "But we can't just give up, either. By the way, we got footage of when the package was left at your door. Couldn't get a clear shot of the guy's face, ball cap, shades, kept his head down and coat collar up. Maybe if you took a look though, you might see something familiar, even recognize him."

"Do I have to? I'm not up to it, not yet." Harm did not want to see who might have been at his door, even though he had the feeling that the man who had enslaved him would not have risked making a personal delivery. Not only that, but the fact that he really just wanted everyone to drop this whole pointless investigation and let him try to go on with his life.

"Some other time, then," said Webb. "You should know that Special Agent Manning will be bugging you about it, sooner rather than later, so you might want to let me show it to you. Then, I could just let him know if it wasn't the same man."

"Fine. Whatever." Harm dismissed the subject. "Don't forget to take that box with you."

Webb took it from the table as Mac put on her coat. "If you need anything at all, call me on my cell," he told Harm.

"Or mine," added Mac.

"I know how to reach you, but don't worry; I'll be fine." Harm had no intention of calling either one of them. Receiving that package, especially the note, had been more upsetting than he had let on and he wanted to be left alone to think.

As soon as Mac and Clay were gone, Harm locked the door, and then headed for his medication. He had managed to hold on and avoid a full blown anxiety attack, but he felt shaky at best, and knew the only way he would be able to calm down and get through the next few hours was to take a tranquilizer. He had barely suppressed the rage he felt upon reading those words from the master. Now, numerous intrusive images flooded his mind, unbidden and unwanted, as he swallowed the pill with some water, wishing he had something stronger to drink.

Still trembling, Harm knew it would take a little while to feel the effects. He didn't really want to think too much, though it was difficult not to. Using a few of the coping skills that he had learned so far, namely self-soothing and distraction, Harm prepared to get as comfortable as he could. He put some mellow guitar music on, lit a few candles, and turned on all the colored lights and the Christmas tree. By turning down the regular lighting, the loft was cast in a warm, multi-colored glow. Harm took out a wine glass, poured himself a mixture of sparkling soda and cranberry juice, and set it on the end table. Grabbing a pillow and the quilted throw he had gotten from his grandmother, he threw them at one end of the sofa.

The lighting was soft and dim, but not too dark. Darkness still made him uncomfortable. Harm looked towards the windows. He had never bothered with curtains; the loft had always had an open, contemporary feel. Now, he felt the urge to keep the outside world out, not wanting to see the foreboding darkness on the other side of the windows or the feeling of anyone being able to look in. He moved to the tall windows; they, at least, had functional blinds hung from the top. He hadn't used them in quite some time, but now felt the need to lower and close them completely.

Harm went back to the couch and sank down into the cushions. As he sipped on his drink, he tried to focus on the music. Staring at the pulsating fiber optic lights changing colors on the tree, Harm practiced some relaxation techniques. Slowly, his anxiety and thoughts of the master left him, as he began to relax. He leaned back against the pillow and pulled his feet up, his long body sprawled the length of the sofa. Lying there for a while longer, Harm let the music transport him. He pulled the quilt up over himself, and eventually drifted off.

***

Later that evening, Mac and Clay had returned to the building where Harm resided. Webb knocked several times on Harm's door, but received no answer.

"Maybe he's sleeping," Mac wondered aloud, as she stood next to Webb. "Harm?" She called out to the closed door, then listened with her ear to it for several seconds.

"We could use the key," Clay offered, observing the concern on Mac's face.

"Okay. Let's hope he didn't set the security system to maximum."

Webb unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open. No alarms sounded, other than the two small beeps that signaled the opening of the main entrance/exit point, much to their relief. However, Webb, ever cautious, motioned to Mac to wait as he scanned the room before entering first. They could hear soft music coming from the stereo and Webb saw Rabb sacked out on the couch. With a smirk, he nodded to Mac and she followed him inside.

The door clicked shut, but Harm still did not awaken. He looked dead to the world.

"I hate to wake him up," Mac whispered, noticing the nearly empty wine glass on the table.

"Then don't," Clay responded softly, watching Mac pick up the glass and sniff the small amount of dark reddish liquid.

"I can't smell any alcohol," she murmured. "Here. Taste it for me." As an alcoholic, she couldn't take the chance of sipping it, although she was pretty sure there wasn't any liquor in the place. She had checked days earlier, knowing it was important that Harm not mix alcohol with the medications he had been prescribed.

Webb took the glass from her, sniffing suspiciously, and then took a small taste. "It's just juice, Sarah. Cranberry, I believe, though somewhat watered down."

Mac sighed with relief, and she thought back to their earlier conversations over dinner and on the drive they took afterwards to Admiral Chegwidden's house in McLean. Per Mac's request, they had gone to pick up Harm's SUV, and she had driven it back to D.C., while Webb followed her in his car. Harm had been the main topic of discussion this evening, but Webb had not provided a whole lot of answers to her questions. Mac couldn't help but worry about Harm and she believed that if she knew more, she would be better equipped to help him. She also had the distinct feeling that Webb knew a lot more than he would admit to, and it frustrated her when he would neither confirm, nor deny, her suspicions.

"There's nothing more I can tell you," Webb had said to her. He was determined that whatever details Mac learned, she would hear it from Harm. It was Rabb's right to decide what information he would divulge and to whom. "Rabb isn't ready to talk about what he's been through, yet, and might not be able to for a long time."

"What if he's never going to be able to talk to me?" Mac had asked. "What do I do then? How can I help him?"

"I don't know, Sarah, I don't know," Clay had replied. "Just be patient and be there for him, I guess ... like you were for me after Paraguay ... when I needed you."

Coming back to the present, Mac looked down at Harm. He was completely oblivious to their presence, trapped in a vivid dream, reliving a particularly disturbing scene on a different couch.

~ ... * On the sofa, Harm curled up close against his master, wrapping an arm around his belly and laying his head on the man's chest. He heard his master's rumbling laugh against his ear. The master put a comforting arm around Harm's shoulder, as Harm leaned into him. Harm was on his side with his legs bent. The master slid his hand down Harm's side and affectionately patted Harm's naked butt cheek...

Harm stretched his leg out straight along the length of the sofa, allowing the man better access to him. The master moved his hand to stroke Harm's belly and Harm responded by shifting his hip back and opening his legs, somewhat like a dog on display. The master rewarded him by teasing his smooth, hairless balls...

Within moments, the master's fingers became gentle as they lightly caressed over Harm's stomach and up to his chest. Harm quieted down, watching the expression on his master's face change from one of amusement and frivolity to one of pure tenderness and affection. Harm could do nothing more than hold his master's intense gaze, their faces barely an inch apart...

The master rubbed Harm's smooth chest, then let his hand wander back down, cupping it over Harm's genitals. With his other hand, he petted the side of Harm's face * ... ~

Harm had stirred briefly, rolling from his side and stretching more onto his back. Mac reached down and gently smoothed Harm's tousled hair.

~ ... * The master bent his head down to Harm's neck, and sucked on the side of his throat, just below the jaw line, leaving his mark of ownership in the form of a purple bruise. Harm closed his eyes as his master stroked him with one hand, and pinched his nipples to stiff peaks with the other. Harm's lips parted in a soft moan, as he allowed himself to float away in the sensations, lost in his need for his master's attentions. * ~

Harm moaned in his sleep, tilting his head back as his body arched unconsciously. Another small sound came out of his slightly open mouth, not of pain, but rather a strange, almost desperate moan.

"Sarah, wake him up," Webb said suddenly, sounding concerned as he moved toward them.

"He's dreaming. Do you think it's a bad one?" Mac gently stroked Harm's cheek with the back of her hand.

"Possibly."

"Harm, wake up. Harm?" Leaning over him, Mac touched his shoulder and patted it as she spoke, calling his name repeatedly. "Harm!"

"A-a-a-a-a-a-h!" A loud wail was wrenched from Harm as he struggled to escape his terror. Bolting upright, he nearly knocked into Mac, eyes wide, yet not recognizing her. "No! N-o-o-o-o!" Harm looked frantically around the room, shaking and hyperventilating as he came out of the nightmare. It had felt so real that a sob caught in his throat. "Oh-god-oh-god!"

Alarmed, Mac reached out to him. "Harm, I'm sorry we had to wake you, but you were dreaming."

Harm jerked back from her touch, gasping. "Don't touch me!" As Harm pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, Webb came around the sofa and knelt on the floor in front of him. Harm began to rock back and forth.

"He was *here*," Harm blurted out, eyes darting around the room. His breathing was shallow and rapid.

"No, he wasn't, Harm. It was just a dream ... a bad dream," Webb said calmly, as he glanced up at Mac.

"I'll get a glass of water and his medication," said Mac, and she hurried towards the kitchen.

"Good idea," said Clay. They both could see how upset Harm was, but had no way of knowing that he had already taken a tranquillizer less than three hours ago.

With watery eyes, Harm finally looked right at Clay. "He *was* here," he insisted. "He was here ... I could *feel* him t-touching m-me." Another strong shudder passed through him at the memory and he continued rocking.

Webb tried his best to reassure him. "I know it seemed real, but it was a nightmare. You woke up disoriented – "

"I seem to have a lot of those," Harm muttered bitterly. He stopped rocking to run a trembling hand through his hair. "God, Webb, will I ever stop reliving everything that psycho did to me? I mean, the physical torture was bad enough, but the *other* stuff was so much worse. The things he did ... and ... what he made me do ... I was completely powerless to stop him." Harm's face screwed up in despair before he covered it with his hand and hung his head. "The worst p-part of all ... he ... he made me ... n-need him. How do I deal with all that?" His shoulders shook as he started crying in earnest.

"Ahhh, damn," Clay said, gripping the arm that was still wrapped around Harm's knees. "I wish I knew, Harm. You do realize that the major 'mind-fuck' he played on you was all just part of his sick game, don't you?"

"I know," Harm said under his breath, nodding. Tears streamed down his face and fell onto his shirt. "Doesn't make it any easier."

"No, I don't suppose it does," Webb agreed. He looked up past Harm's shoulder. Mac had come from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other. Harm had apparently forgotten that she was even there, and she had heard everything he said to Clay. She stood there now, behind Harm, silent, with a stricken expression on her face, as the impact of Harm's words began to dawn on her.

All Mac could do was watch the two men she cared about most share a unique bond with each other that she could not. She had been there when Clay was tortured in Paraguay, his injuries so severe that he almost didn't survive. She was with him in the months it took him to recuperate from the nerve damage, although neither one of them had dealt with the psychological aspects of their experience very well. Mac knew that Harm had been beaten and tortured by his abductor; he had arrived at the hospital in bad shape with severe blood loss, needing emergency surgery, and she had seen the scars on his body from being restrained, whipped and burned. Mac had even had visions of the heavy shackles encircling his wrists and his screams of pain in her nightmares.

However, Mac was now beginning to suspect the extent of what else Harm might have suffered. Not knowing specifics, all she could do was speculate, as her mind attempted to wrap around the possibilities. Those thoughts truly frightened her, and she was at an utter loss as to what to say or do.

Webb motioned to her, prompting her to come around the couch, where she hesitantly sat on the edge to give Harm some space. She put the pill in Webb's hand.

"Here, Rabb, take this," Webb said, holding out his palm. Harm lifted his head, took the pill with a trembling hand, and popped it into his mouth without question, knowing it would help to calm him down. Taking the glass that Mac held out for him, he drank all the water, but he wouldn't make eye contact with her.

"Shit," Harm said, sniffling and snuffling, as he rubbed at his face with his hand. "I really hate anyone seeing me like this."

Webb got up from where he had been kneeling and took the glass out of Rabb's hand. After setting it on the counter, he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Oh, Harm, I'm sorry," Mac said with sincere regret.

"Why? It wasn't your fault," Harm responded, still shaky, and feeling mortified more than anything else. He wasn't even sure why. After the countless, severe degradations his captor had subjected him to, having Mac and Webb witness his fear and vulnerability should not have been nearly as humiliating by comparison. It had always been difficult for Harm, however, to let anyone see his weaknesses.

"When you didn't answer your door, I got worried, so we let ourselves in." The concern and sympathy in Mac's eyes as she gazed at Harm washed over him. He hung his head again, breaking eye contact with her. She wanted to comfort him, to reach out and gather him into her arms, but hesitated, not sure if he would welcome her actions. Harm, at that moment, seemed more fragile than ever to her, as she struggled with thoughts of what he must be going through.

Just then, Webb reappeared, bringing Rabb a damp washcloth. Harm took it from Clay's outstretched hand and gratefully wiped his face. He then closed his eyes and held the coolness of the cloth against his eyelids, while letting out a heavy sigh.

"Thanks, Webb," Harm stated softly, leaning against the back of the sofa. Webb sat down next to him and nodded to Mac, who was perched on the other side of Harm. She slid her arm around the back of Harm's neck to clasp his shoulder with her hand, pulling him towards her. Harm leaned in and rested his head against her shoulder, keeping his eyes closed. Then, Clay put his arm up over the back of the couch, adding to the weight on Harm's shoulders as he laid it onto Sarah's arm. With Harm between them, they effectively formed a comforting hug in support of their friend in need.

Clay's expression was serious as he studied Mac's face. Her eyes shone with tears that she would not allow to fall. Neither of them knew what to say at this point to help Harm, so they remained silent.

Quietly, the three friends sat together until Harm finally relaxed.

Several minutes passed. Between the Lorazepam and the hypnotic stroking of Mac's thumb across Harm's palm, Harm became more and more drowsy, until he was in a barely conscious stupor. Breathing deeply against Mac's neck, he simply drifted.

Webb shifted, as though to stand up, and Harm curled more into Mac's soft warmth.

"M-m-m-m," sighed Harm.

"Hey, Harm, how are you doing?" Mac asked, moving to peer down at his face.

"Jus' fine," he mumbled.

She looked to Clay for help, as she wiggled out from under Harm's dead weight. "Come on, flyboy, let's get you to bed."

Harm sat up suddenly, his tensing up at the nickname going unnoticed. "I'm awake," he said, blinking a few times.

"Yeah, sure," Webb laughed. He stood and offered Rabb an arm to pull him up.

"No, really, I'm fine. I'd just as soon stay right here." Harm was feeling pretty groggy, but he didn't want to give in to sleep just yet. Realizing that he had skipped supper and was now hungry, he figured he should probably do something about getting some food into his stomach. "Actually, you two can go home. I'm just going to fix myself something to eat." Harm looked up with a goofy, crooked grin. The medication was definitely making him feel relaxed ... and brave. At the moment, he really felt that he didn't need babysitters and that he could spend the night alone in his own home.

"Are you sure, Harm?" Mac asked, looking less than convinced that Harm could do anything right now, much less cook. "I could fix you something in a jiffy."

"M-a-a-a-c, I can manage. Besides, I don't know what I'm in the mood for. I just want to snoop around my kitchen for a snack." Harm's logic made sense and he was persistent. "Look, I know you two have to be at work in the morning and it's time I start taking care of myself."

"I just assumed I'd be staying here tonight," Mac said, confused. She had spent the past two nights, after all. "I really don't mind, you know."

"I know, and I appreciate it, Mac. I just need ... some time." Unable to find a way to explain that he suddenly felt the urge to be left alone, Harm looked away from Mac and over to Clay. "Actually, I need to talk to Webb ... alone." Webb turned slightly in reaction to Rabb's request, a curious expression on his face. "Can you stay?" Harm asked, hoping Mac would feel better about leaving, knowing that Webb would look after him. He would get rid of Webb, once Mac was gone.

"Sure," Webb nodded.

"Well, I guess I'll head home then," Mac announced, carefully keeping the hurt out of her voice. Although Harm's tone hadn't meant to sound dismissive, she felt that she had been summarily dismissed, nonetheless. Leaving some things behind, she collected her coat, duffel bag, and uniform to take home, realizing that she should get uniforms ready and attend to other things to prepare for her work week.

After Mac's departure, Harm concentrated on walking carefully into his kitchen, not letting on that he felt light-headed. Clay pulled up a bar stool, taking a seat at the island counter, watching Harm putter and poke around in the cabinets and then the refrigerator.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but I don't seem to have anything stronger than soda," Harm said apologetically.

"'S okay, I'll have whatever you're having," Webb responded, studying Rabb's movements as the taller man poured ginger ale into two glasses with ice. Taking his glass, Webb held it up in Rabb's direction.

"To surviving," he said simply.

Harm nodded, and tipped his glass up to clink lightly against Clay's. "To the support of good friends."

"Here, here," replied Webb, and they both took a drink of the refreshing, fizzy liquid.

Harm was in the process of toasting a bagel when he asked, "So, how was dinner?"

"Fine." Clay eyed him. "We drove out to McLean and picked up your SUV, since you two hadn't gotten around to it. Sarah thought you might need it tomorrow."

"That's true. They've got me going to Bethesda three times a week," Harm explained. "I'll admit, I just wasn't up to going out yet or facing the Admiral, but I do need to get around and get organized, catch up on things."

"Where's your corvette?"

"Commander Turner has been taking care of it in my absence. I'll catch up with him eventually." Harm thought about how everyone he knew had gone out of his or her way to do something to help him, as he sat down to eat his bagel, which he had slathered with peanut butter.

Webb decided to get to the point. "So, Rabb, what's on your mind? What did you want to talk to me about?"

There was a long pause while Harm finished chewing and tried to formulate an appropriate way to broach the subject that had been bothering him most of the weekend. Realizing there was no point to beating around the bush with Webb, he decided that he had to take a chance and confide in him.

"It's about Mac."

Webb quirked his eyebrow, but remained silent. Harm had his full attention.

"We've talked this weekend – quite a lot actually. She's been so strong and supportive, but there are things she needs to know and I don't know how I'm going to tell her," Harm began.

"Like what?" Clay asked, wondering where this was going.

"Shit, Webb, I feel weird talking to you about this. I just don't know what to do. I mean, I would never want Mac to be hurt and I never intended to interfere in her relationship with you, you know?"

"I think the worst way you could hurt her is to block her out from what you're going through. Be honest in how you feel and tell her. That's important to her. Believe me, I know."

Rabb looked at Webb thoughtfully; still unsure of where they stood, even though he had heard Mac's side of things. "I'm not sure I understand."

Clay shifted, took another long swallow of his soda, and rubbed his temple. "Sarah is a remarkable, amazing woman and I'm crazy about her, but I don't think I ever stood a chance." Pointedly, he looked Harm in the eyes, and said, "I'm not the one she's in love with."

Harm, about to take another bite of his bagel, set it down instead, staring at Clay, thinking, 'Oh-god, even he knows. Am I the only one who, until yesterday, was clueless about how Mac feels about me?' Harm was too stunned to respond, the silence becoming more awkward as it lengthened.

"Sorry, Rabb," Webb shrugged. "But, I'm not going to lie and say I wished things hadn't turned out differently. We never consummated our relationship, not that I didn't want to, but I understood why it never happened. Look, I just want Sarah to be happy and I think you deserve some happiness, too."

"Where does that leave you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm never for want of a beautiful woman on my arm. Who knows? Maybe, I'll even find the right one someday," Webb smirked, downing the last of his drink. "Come on, finish your bagel and then tell me what's worrying you."

Harm did just that, so their conversation could continue uninterrupted. Leaning an elbow on the counter, he resumed speaking.

"Mac and I had made a pact once, back when Harriet gave birth to little A.J., that if neither one of us was in a relationship in five years, we would ... uh ... have a baby together. She warned me then not to make promises I couldn't keep. Well, the five years will be up this spring, and I'm afraid I'll have to break that promise, after all."

It was Webb's turn to be stunned. As he absorbed what Rabb told him, he suspected where this discussion was going, but he wanted clarification. "Why would you need to break that promise?"

Harm didn't answer right away. His hands started trembling and he clenched his fists. Unable to make eye contact, he hung his head and looked down at the floor.

"Because, I'm damaged," he replied finally, his voice raw with emotion. "Before things go any further, Mac needs to know that I can't father any children. Hell, I might never even be able to function as a man again. She deserves someone who is whole, Webb, someone who can love her. I've been trying to find the courage all weekend to tell her, y' know? This part is hard enough; never mind the rest of it. What would she think if she were to find out everything? I couldn't bear the pity, the horror, the disgust – "

"Stop," Clay broke in. "First of all, what do the doctors say? Is there anything they can do? Is this condition permanent?"

"Not sure," Harm shook his head. "It could very well be. They'll run more tests at my three month check-up."

"Well, Sarah does deserve to know the truth and what the options are. It's her future, too; you can't decide for her, though I'm sure she'll understand. Perhaps you just need time, so give things a chance.

"As for the rest of it," Clay continued. "Sarah has been asking questions and trying to figure out what you went through at that psycho's hands. Rest assured, she won't hear it from me. Whatever she finds out, it needs to come from you. Maybe you won't ever be able to tell her any details, but for god's sake, talk to someone. You have to let it out, eventually."

"I'm working on it," said Rabb, giving Webb a half-hearted smile. "Say, when did you get so smart and levelheaded, anyway?"

"I've always been smart and levelheaded, Rabb," Webb grinned, getting off the stool. "You've just never noticed before."

Harm snorted, which made Clay chuckle. He stood as well, dizziness hitting him instantly. "It's getting late. I think I could give sleep a try now."

Webb turned back to face Rabb and gaze up at him. "You going to be all right? I could stay, crash on the couch."

"Nah, it's not necessary, but thanks for the offer. I'm pretty beat. I'll just head to bed right after you leave."

"All right, then," Webb acquiesced, not entirely convinced. "Take care, Harm, and don't forget to set the alarm." He gestured toward the wall panel, and then grabbed his coat on the way to the door.

Harm followed him. He stuck out his hand and Clay grasped it in a firm shake. "Thanks, Clay and have a good night. Be careful."

"That's a given," Webb replied. They released their grips on each other's hands, and Webb slipped quickly out into the night.

***

As the first week of being back home passed, Harm settled into a routine. He focused on keeping busy and getting organized in an effort to occupy his mind. However, his plan was not very successful. No matter what he was doing, thoughts and memories kept creeping in and made it impossible for him to concentrate on anything else. As a result, even the simplest tasks took longer to complete, and he often felt frustrated. Nevertheless, Harm did what he had to do in order to get through each day, presenting a facade of normalcy to the outside world.

Leaving the loft was the most difficult action for Harm. Every time he had to go out in public, he felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding. It took all he had to fight back the edge of panic and force himself to leave the only place that he felt safe. And force himself he did. Reporting to Bethesda for his therapy sessions, which he dreaded, was not optional; he was under medical orders. Once he was finished there, though, he would run necessary errands on the way home, always making sure he was home before dark. On non-appointment days, Harm never left his apartment. He never answered his phone either, screening all calls. Avoiding human contact as much as possible, he was quickly becoming a recluse. Everyone else was busy with their work and their lives.

Harm had managed to accomplish a few things, in spite of the ongoing struggle with his symptoms. Lieutenant Roberts had come by and helped Harm set up the laptop for Internet service and an e-mail account, and even hooked up a printer. After reviewing some basics and making sure the Commander was familiarized with this particular system, Bud left him to his own devices. Within a few days, Harm was spending considerable time surfing the Web and discovering the myriad of possibilities to learn, from reading and research on any subject, to shopping without having to leave home. It was definitely a way to keep occupied and pass the time, and Harm liked being able to order just about anything he needed and have it shipped or delivered right to his home.

Harm had also gotten the keys to the apartment next door and went over to examine his new acquisition. Wondering what he would find, he had been pleasantly surprised. The place had obviously had a lot of work done and was in good shape. The living room and kitchen were, unfortunately, rather small. Harm determined that it was the living room that shared a common wall with his place; specifically, his bedroom was on the other side of that wall. The two bedrooms, however, were a decent size. In between them, Harm found a completely renovated and beautiful bathroom, including a glass-enclosed shower with white tile walls and a bench seat, a long, black marble vanity with twin sink bowls and wood cabinetry with pewter fixtures underneath, and a separate alcove for the commode. A large mirror covered the entire wall behind the vanity. The best feature, next to the shower stall, was a deep, black marble, whirlpool tub, big enough for two adults. Surrounded by tile, it even had a step to ease climbing into it. Access to the room came from two doors, one entrance leading from the hallway that connected the bedrooms. The other door was a private entrance directly from one of the bedrooms. After taking in the entire space, Harm realized that it was, overall, an impressive and valuable asset to own. Once again, he was overwhelmed by his stepfather's generosity. Harm would have to mull over some ideas on what to do with this place; there was no need to rush into any decisions.

With Harm spending so much quiet time at home, he often turned to music, which he had enjoyed in many forms and varieties. Playing his guitar had always been a method for him to think things through when he had a lot on his mind, or just a way to relax, and he picked it up at least once a day, if not more. Music was also most helpful in its use for the relaxation exercises he had learned in therapy, which he was to practice daily. In fact, Harm had the stereo going almost constantly in order to avoid the deafening silence of his loft. When it was too quiet, it brought him back to the endless hours and days of silence in captivity with nothing to do, other than think and despair. He had to sort through his entire compact disc collection, as any hard rock music with heavy, pounding beats would remind him of the songs his captor had used over and over again. That type of music was boxed up and stored away out of sight and Harm decided he would need to add to his collection. Using the Internet, he researched and found a plethora of music for meditation, healing, and relaxation. Spending time listening to music samples to see what he liked was yet another way to pass one day into the next. He even ordered a few CD's to try out and have something new to listen to.

That first week, Bud had been his only visitor; though Harm had received several phone messages from friends, family, and colleagues, inquiring how he was doing. He only returned two calls, to his mother and to his boss, assuring both Trish and Admiral Chegwidden that he was all right and taking care of himself. Webb had been incommunicado all week, apparently gone on another secretive, undercover mission.

Mac was out of town, TAD on a big case, but she called at least once during the day and again every evening, trying to check up on him. Every message ended with "I miss you. I need to hear your voice. Call me on my cell." Harm had spoken to her only once and convinced her not to worry, that he was managing just fine.

Even in therapy, Harm was determined to show that he was handling things when, in fact, he was not. The sessions took a lot out of him, as he fought to keep control over his anger. At home or elsewhere, he concentrated on anything else to avoid thinking about his trauma or dealing with the memories of his fear and pain. Being at Bethesda brought it all to the forefront, and Harm was beginning to understand why he was told he would feel worse before he'd start feeling better. He was still in the victim stage, working towards moving on to the survivor stage, knowing he had a long way to go. Going through his sessions, Harm maintained a tight-lipped control over his emotions, as he learned about his symptoms and the reasons behind them. He was not yet ready to process what had happened to him; unable to talk about the actual abuse perpetrated against him, the pain and humiliations he suffered.

Dr. Parnell knew when not to push too hard in their individual sessions; otherwise, the Commander would shut down entirely. So, for now, he concentrated on the man's background and history, hoping to discover what made Harmon Rabb tick. Maybe with time, he would be able to get his patient to open up, not only to reveal the details of his trauma, but to discuss his feelings, as well. Only then would Harm have a chance at healing and putting it all behind him. In the meantime, he would focus on alleviating Harm's stress and other symptoms and, together with group therapy, teach him the skills to cope with day-to-day living.

For Harm, group therapy was even more difficult. He was very uncomfortable at the thought that a group of total strangers could possibly find out what had been done to him. He had been relieved to find out this group was more an instructional class than anything else. Rank had no place here; patients came in civilian attire and were instructed beforehand on the rules; first names only and no discussion of individual personal history in class. The focus was on functioning in their present life and learning how to live with PTSD and being a trauma survivor. The classes were taught by Sally Van Doren, a licensed counselor on the trauma team of the Mental Health Unit at Bethesda. She was a kind and gentle, middle-aged woman, thin almost to the point of frail looking, with a soft voice. Coinciding with the group, she also saw each of her students, one-on-one. This explained how Harm ended up having three appointments per week. Study materials were handed out weekly, as well as homework assignments, which Harm vowed to work on diligently. However, in class, he was very quiet, not contributing or participating, never speaking unless called upon. He felt different, wondering what the other patients in the group, who all happened to be male, were doing there. He couldn't possibly have anything in common with them, assuming they were all suffering the aftermath of an 'in the line of duty' related horror, perhaps in Afghanistan, Iraq, or somewhere else going further back. More than once, he remembered cases that he, as a lawyer, had been involved with in the past, witnessing the plight of Viet Nam Veterans ravaged by PTSD, and seeing a number of them in VA hospitals.

Harm was afraid. He certainly did not want to end up like that. At times, he really believed he was going crazy, and that scared him almost as much as knowing that his abductor was still out there somewhere, perhaps even watching. He could not begin to let his guard down, yet he was determined to show the rest of the world that he was functioning normally, that he could handle it. If he kept insisting to others that he was fine, maybe he would eventually start to believe it, too. He would just have to exercise that self-control he used to have to stamp down the rage he would feel simmering under the surface. As difficult and intense as therapy was, he would have to endure and try to learn all he could.

Harm was simply not going to talk about it.

***

Mac got back into town on Sunday. The first thing she did when she finally arrived at her apartment and dropped her luggage was to check her mail and messages. The second thing she did was to call Harm. There was no answer, so she left yet another message on his machine. After unpacking and getting organized, she started a load of laundry. Unable to just sit around and wait to hear from Harm, Mac decided to jump into her Corvette and drive over to the loft.

Harm had been trying to study and was deeply absorbed in his workbook assignment when a firm knocking came at his door. The noise startled him so badly, he jumped right off the sofa, knocking the notebooks off his lap and dropping his pen on the floor in the process.

"Dammit!" he muttered, while his heart pounded in near panic. As he headed towards the door, he glanced at the wall monitor and saw that it was Mac waiting on the other side. After taking a few deep breaths to calm down, Harm finally opened the door.

"Hey, Mac." Harm moved aside so Mac could come in.

"Hey, yourself," she answered, giving Harm a quick, yet thorough, once over. He looked haggard and unkempt, sporting a two-day shadow from not having shaved and wearing an old, ratty pair of worn sweatpants and a long sleeved, gray sweatshirt. There were dark shadows under his dull eyes, a stark contrast to his pale face.

"Is this a bad time?" Mac slid past him and turned, looking concerned.

Harm gave a slight shrug of his shoulders as he closed the door and locked it. "I ... ah ... wasn't expecting anyone."

"Didn't you get my messages?" asked Mac.

Harm glanced over at his answering machine. "I heard you were back," he said listlessly. "Was going to call you, but then I got kind of wrapped up in ..." Harm's explanation trailed off as he made a sweeping gesture with his arm over the mess spread out on the couch.

"What are you working on?" Mac looked curiously at the strewn piles of folders and sheets of paper, a couple of notebooks and a large soft cover textbook with several sticky notes used as bookmarks sticking out of it. "Looks like quite the project there."

"Nah, just ... homework," Harm said, as he cleared everything off the sofa and placed the stack on his desk. He caught Mac's questioning look. "For the group therapy class."

"Hmmm, how's that going?"

"It's ... difficult," he replied haltingly, motioning for Mac to sit. "Among other assignments, I have to write stuff in a journal." After she lowered herself gracefully to the sofa, he came over and sat at the opposite end. "So, how was your week?" Harm asked, trying to change the subject.

"Whew, long and tiring," Mac answered. "Tough case, but I caught a couple of breaks, got enough of a handle on things to pretty much wrap it up. Glad to be home." Without waiting to see if Harm was interested enough to ask for more detail, she deftly deflected the conversation back to him.

"Did you miss me?"

After a brief pause to contemplate the question, he answered truthfully. "Yeah ... I did."

Not that he wanted to have missed her so much. He wished that he didn't need her, but since he did, he had vowed to himself that he would be honest about it. Right now, Mac was the only person he was willing to allow into his otherwise self-imposed isolation, no one else. Admitting he missed her was a big step for him.

"You look more exhausted than I feel," Mac observed. "Talk to me. Have you been sleeping at all?"

"Not much," Harm shrugged. "I'm tired all the time. The trips to Bethesda take a lot out of me; I don't have much energy to do anything else. When I become tense and nervous, I take the meds to relieve the anxiety, but then I get pretty groggy. I also take it to help me get to sleep at night, but I keep waking up from bad dreams. So, I guess I just nap here and there." Harm didn't bother getting into how much trouble he was having with his other symptoms; the flashbacks, panic attacks, agoraphobia, poor concentration, feeling easily overwhelmed or frustrated, and just plain emotional.

"You know ... you were sleeping better when I was here with you," Mac said with a small smile.

"Hmm, is that an offer?" Harm asked lightheartedly, with a hint of a smirk.

"Maybe." Mac slid across the sofa to snuggle closer to Harm without actually touching him. "Are you inviting me to stay?"

Harm reached out and wrapped his arm around Mac's shoulder, drawing her to him. Several moments passed as he simply held her without speaking, wanting to never let go, her head resting on his shoulder. With his free hand, he took her hand and held it against his chest. Mac could feel a slight trembling and she raised her head to look up into his eyes. He looked so serious.

"Before things go any further, we need to talk."

"I hope you know you can tell me anything, anything at all," Mac said reassuringly, as she squeezed Harm's hand.

"Yeah," said Harm. "We've known each other a long time and we've been through a lot together over the years, haven't we? Through all our ups and downs as partners, you've been my best friend, Mac."

"I feel the same way, Harm. You've been there for me so many times when I needed you."

"Mac." Harm shifted and brought their entwined hands down to rest on his thigh as he struggled to continue, gazing at Mac intently.

"Will you always be there?"

"Yes."

That one word, spoken so softly, but without hesitation, gave Harm the courage to go on.

"Then, there are some things you deserve to know."

Mac sat up straight and turned to face Harm. Silently, she slipped her other hand over his hand, trapping it between both her hands, and waited for him to find his words.

"I don't know if you realize it, but, in a few months, we're coming up on an anniversary of sorts." When Mac looked puzzled, Harm had to explain further. "Five years ago ..."

"Oh," Mac suddenly realized what he was referring to. "Our deal. That's this year already?"

"I know I made you a promise, Mac ... but now, I ... I don't know if I can keep it." Harm looked miserable.

"That's okay, don't worry about it," Mac said, sounding a bit flippant in order to hide her disappointment. The thought crossed her mind that Harm wanted to back out of the bargain and was just trying to let her down gently. "I'm not going to hold you to that promise."

"No, wait. You don't understand." Harm held fast onto her hand, not allowing her to pull away. "I want, more than anything, to have a baby with you ... together ... like we had planned."

"Then, what are you trying to say?" Mac felt even more confused as she searched Harm's eyes.

Harm's shoulders drooped as he let out a long sigh. "This is so hard for me to explain. You need to know what the doctors told me."

"Okay, now you're scaring me, Harm."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to ... I ... I'm not doing this right," Harm stammered. He took a deep breath, looking down at their hands clasped together, and started again. "When I was held captive, I was hurt ... really badly, which caused some ... uh ... possibly long term damage."

"You were tortured," Mac stated quietly.

It was a statement of fact, not a question. Harm kept his gaze down, not denying anything, as Mac held his hand tightly. She had seen some of his scars, which had already confirmed her suspicions.

"Please, I can't talk about ... Anyway, the thing is ... is ... ah, damn..." Harm struggled so hard to find the words. "I might not be able to father children, maybe not ever."

"Oh, Harm. I'm so sorry." Stunned, Mac didn't know what else to say.

Harm continued, "The doctors don't know yet whether or not it's a permanent condition. I'll have to undergo more tests."

"Even if it is, we'll deal with it. Harm, I know you'd make a great father, so we could always explore other options, in the future, if you still want to."

"If only it was that simple." Harm shook his head, dejected. "It's not just being sterile, though that's bad enough, not being able to give you a baby. I ... there was nerve damage. I ... I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but I'm also ... impotent." Harm paused, not daring to look up at Mac's face, letting his words sink in.

Mac squeezed his hand harder, unable to find a vocal response to such devastating news. She stared at the love of her life, his shoulders drooping, head hanging in defeat. Harm looked up at her then and there were tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said in a shaky voice, squeezing her hand back.

"Oh, Harm, don't say that. This is NOT your fault – "

Harm cut her off, his voice shaking in a sudden torrent of emotion. "You shouldn't be stuck with a broken, damaged man who can't even function as a man. I mean, I'm hoping that this is temporary, but, Mac, what if I'll never be able to make love to you? You deserve so much more than I can give you. If you were really smart, you'd turn and run the other way and never look back. Find someone who *can* love you and give you children."

"Stop it!" Mac exclaimed, anger and frustration showing in her eyes. "You stop talking like that right now, Harmon Rabb. I love you and I know you love me. There are other ways to express that love; we'll figure it out as we go along, together. I'm not leaving, so get used to having me around. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, only you." Mac took a deep breath, calming herself down.

"I don't understand how you can be so calm, so accepting. I've always known you to be a strong woman, but now I'm beginning to realize just how much."

"Well, I *am* a Marine," Mac smiled, trying to lighten the serious mood.

"But, there's a possibility that I may never be able to have a normal ... physical relationship with you," Harm protested. "I can't ask you to give up your ... sex life in order to stay with me. It's not fair to you."

Mac realized just how difficult this conversation was for Harm. It had to take a supreme effort for him to overcome his fear and embarrassment, to be this open and honest with her.

"Who's giving up? Not me," Mac grinned at Harm. "Besides, sex isn't everything. The important thing is that we share our lives in every other way. Let's just wait and see. As long as we talk honestly, we'll figure things out together, the key word being *to-geth-er*."

Harm did not look completely convinced.

Mac continued, "There is one thing that I would like to ask of you."

"What's that?" Harm asked nervously.

"Would you just hold me in your arms?"

Harm immediately opened his arms wide for Mac to lean forward and fold herself snugly against him. "That I can do, Mac. That I can do." He wrapped his arms around her as she settled in, her arms reaching around him as well.

Locked in a cozy embrace, they held each other in a comfortable silence. As Mac's fingers drew soothing circles on Harm's back, she felt him slowly relax.

"You know what my biggest regret is now?" Harm murmured softly in her ear.

Mac looked up and shook her head.

"That I wasted so much time before all this happened, too concerned with always doing what was right or maybe I was just afraid to take a chance with my heart." Harm paused, then explained further at Mac's perplexed expression. "I regret that I never took the chance to experience making love with you; now it might be too late, and I'm afraid that I'll never get another chance. God, Mac, it could have all been so different."

"Let's not look back, okay? I know there are things in the past that I could have handled differently, as well." Mac laid her cheek back against Harm's shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

"I still don't deserve you," he whispered in her ear.

"Hush. You didn't deserve what was done to you," Mac replied, hugging him tighter, wanting to never let go. She wondered what that bastard must have done to Harm to change him so much. It angered her to think how anyone could inflict such pain and damage to another human being for no reason, to know that such evil existed. Mac made a vow to herself that, no matter how things turned out, she would be there for Harm, to love, protect, and do the best she could to help him pick up the pieces of his life. Now, she would just have to convince Harm that he was worth it.

Lifting her head from Harm's shoulder, Mac looked into his sorrowful eyes. She wished she could magically take away all of his pain and fear. "It's going to be all right, Harm. As long as we have each other, I have faith that things will work out the way they're meant to. I promise." With that, Mac caressed Harm's cheek with her fingers.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Harm said with a watery smile, echoing the words Mac had said to him nearly five years ago.

"Well then, I'll just have to try really hard to keep them," Mac quipped.

"That's all any of us can do," Harm sighed, tightening his hold on her. He had been fraught with anxiety all week, needing to discuss their future, but not knowing if he could find the words or the courage to tell Mac what she had a right to know. There was so much more, but it was a start, a step in the right direction. He felt enormous relief, not only that he had opened up to Mac, but also that she had taken it so well. On the other hand, Harm could not keep his guilt and insecurities from creeping into his thoughts. He was afraid of being unfair to her, to her needs, to her hopes and dreams. It was hard to resist the urge to push Mac away for her own good, rather than have her be saddled with his emotional baggage. Harm felt torn between letting Mac go and holding on to her for dear life. Realizing that he really didn't want to face the future alone and couldn't imagine not having her in his life, he finally came to a decision.

"I'm really glad you're here," said Harm. When Mac smiled up at him, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. Mac responded with a sigh, snuggling even closer.

Not wanting to push too soon, too fast, Mac resisted the urge to deepen the sweet kiss. Instead, she remained content to lightly rub Harm's back, allowing him to nuzzle his face against her cheek and stroke her hair.

As they continued hold and comfort each other, Harm began to feel a glimmer of hope that he could go on.

***

Harm and Mac continued to grow closer over the next few weeks.

Mac had confided in Harm that she was also seeing a therapist over at Bethesda and that she thought it was helpful. Since her sessions with Dr. McCool, Mac seemed to be gaining a quiet strength in dealing with her past issues and she was learning how to handle some of Harm's issues, as well.

Mac had little free time, but spent as much of it as possible with Harm. She often stayed over and had brought a few of her things over to keep at the loft. Harm, on the other hand, had plenty of free time. Other than his appointments at the Medical Center, his schedule was pretty much open. Harm worked at keeping occupied and in control. His main goal was to resume some sense of normalcy in his life. As far as outward appearances went, he seemed to be getting better.

Although unable to prevent his panic attacks or flashbacks, he was learning to look for the signs that triggered them. Understanding his symptoms helped to reduce their severity and frequency somewhat and he hoped to eventually be able to control them entirely. It was hard to gauge how much progress Harm was actually making, as he had become adept at hiding his fears and anxiety, and he presented a facade to the outside world that everything was fine. His doctors began to prepare him for the possibility of returning to his duties at JAG Headquarters, despite the fact that he had yet to open up and talk about his captivity, or deal with his feelings about it.

Harm had mixed feelings about trying to resume his career. As much as he wanted to be able to handle his job, he knew he wasn't ready. The thoughts of dealing with people, the responsibilities, making decisions, all threatened to overwhelm him. He was afraid that he would never be able to pick up where his life left off before the abduction. He had come back profoundly changed. The one thing Harm was sure of; his life would never be the way it used to be, no matter how badly he wished for it. Nothing would ever be the same.

Harm had occasional calls or visits from Sturgis, as well as Bud and Harriett. He even spoke with Webb once, who had called him from who knows what part of the world, apparently on yet another extended, dangerous mission. Everyone seemed to feel the need to check on him and he did his best to assure each one that he was doing all right.

Admiral Chegwidden had called only once and the conversation had been short and awkward. When Harm mentioned it to Mac later, she filled him in on the tense atmosphere at Headquarters. Nobody knew the details of what had happened, only that the wedding of Meredith and the Admiral had been called off.

Whatever amount of time Harm and Mac were able to spend together, was usually at the loft. They could talk for hours, or just relax together in companionable peace and quiet. Mac would share as much of her day as possible with Harm; cases, the goings on at JAG, and anything she thought might be of interest to him. Mostly, they joked and made each other laugh, but Mac also took a keen interest in how Harm spent his days. Every once in a while, the topic of conversation would turn serious and Harm would divulge a tiny bit of his insecurities and struggles.

Mac could see the numerous changes in Harm since his ordeal. Among the most obvious was his demeanor. The swaggering, self-assured man was gone; he had lost all confidence. He was moody, suspicious, and startled easily. Harm had nightmares almost every night and would wake up terrified and in a cold sweat. At least when Mac was there, he seemed to relax a little more easily. After a bad dream, he would reach out for her and snuggle in close, sometimes without even waking her, and would eventually doze off again. On the nights he was alone, sleep was elusive unless he took his tranquillizer pill. Even with that, once a nightmare woke him up, he would lie awake for the longest time before his mind would finally give in and allow his body some rest. Harm's sleep pattern was so disturbed that he constantly felt an overwhelming fatigue and had little energy. His concentration was very poor and he was having difficulty remembering or focusing on things, not only noticed by Mac, but by his own admission. Quite often Mac would catch him staring off into space and she knew he was somewhere else, far away.

Mac thought back, ruefully, to their conversation in Paraguay when she had told him that a relationship would never work out between them because they both wanted to be on top. That certainly wasn't the case now, as Harm deferred to Mac in nearly all matters. He avoided making decisions whenever possible, seemingly content to let Mac be in charge.

On the upside, Mac noticed that Harm tried his best to be attentive and had become more affectionate. They had an ease and comfort level with each other from being friends and partners for such a long time. Mac knew not to push, however, and though they often slept in the same bed, their contact had not progressed beyond cuddling and kissing. Harm was not ready for more intimacy than that and it was one of those subjects he simply did not discuss. Another thing Mac was painfully aware of was Harm's awkward shyness about his body. Harm self-consciously avoided letting Mac catch him coming from or going to the shower and he always wore a tee shirt, or at least a tank top, even to bed. Mac knew it was because of the different scars, each one a reminder of what that animal had subjected Harm to. It was another difficult subject to bring up, though Mac tried her best to assure him that she still found him extremely handsome. She would be patient with him, keep hoping, and wait however long it would take for him to really get better.

Harm began to look a bit less gaunt; his appetite was good and he seemed to be making up for lost time. He found that he had to be careful with what he ate, as he continued to be plagued by stomachaches, which he chalked up to his anxieties and stress. Harm also realized that if he had any hope of returning to full duty, he'd have to regain his strength and endurance, and to be able to pass the physical requirements of his next Fit-Rep. Regardless of the fact that his knees still bothered him, he was determined to find a way to start working out again, but he felt very uncomfortable with going to the gym. He was just not ready to be around strangers yet. Mac had gotten him to go running with her once, weather permitting, and he discovered that being out in wide open spaces induced more than a little bit of anxiety.

With that, Harm came to a decision, one that he wanted to tell Mac about the next time he saw her.

"I've decided what I want to do with the apartment next door," Harm said, matter-of-factly. He was standing in the kitchen getting Mac some bottled water after she had arrived from work one evening.

Mac looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. He had shown her the place previously and she had wondered what his plans were.

"I need more room … I mean, I think we need more room," he started shyly. "I want to combine the two spaces. I could knock out the bedroom wall and put in a door." He became more animated as he pointed to the raised bedroom area. "Then, I'll move my bed into one of the two bedrooms so I can turn this area into a workout room. I'm going to buy some exercise equipment. The door will lead to the living room area on the other side, which we could make into a den or an office. What do you think of the idea?"

Mac smiled at his use of the word 'we'. "It sounds nice, but it is your decision, after all."

"Mac," Harm said, walking over and stopping in front of her. "I'd like it if you'd consider moving in here … with me … on a more permanent basis. That is, um … if you want to."

Mac smiled again. Harm was so cute when he stammered.

"However, if privacy is an issue, you could have your own bedroom. Take the one with the private entrance to the bath. I'll keep using the one over here. The living room could be your own office or a sitting room or something. Plus, it has its own entrance from the hallway. As far as JAG is concerned, you'd have your own address. You don't have to decide now, just think about it."

"Harm," Mac said gently. "I don't have to think about it. I thought you'd never ask."

"You think it's a good idea, then?" Harm sounded hopeful.

"You sure you want me around full time?"

"Yeah, I do," Harm said with a relieved smile.

"Well then, I guess you better get to work on the renovations and I'll start packing up my apartment."

"There's plenty of room for your furniture and everything. We'll have a moving van take care of it all."

"Sounds like a plan," Mac grinned, as she moved into the warm embrace of his arms.

Harm bent down to plant a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips. Mac nearly swooned with joy. When Harm finally pulled back, Mac was treated with one of those rare, full smiles that lit up his face.

***

In less than two weeks, the job was done. Harm had hired a carpenter to help him knock through the wall and install a sturdy door and frame. Harm then moved his bedroom furniture to the smaller of the two bedrooms, leaving the master bedroom for Mac's furnishings. He painted both sides of the wall that had the new opening and gave the rest of the new living area a fresh coat of paint, as well. The treadmill and other fitness and weight equipment that he had ordered was delivered and set up in the now empty space that had been his bedroom.

Mac made sure to notify everyone important of her change of address and a mail forwarding order would take care of the rest. As far as anyone at JAG was concerned, if they even noticed, Mac would simply be Harm's next-door neighbor.

While Mac was at work during the week, it was up to Harm to oversee the movers. First thing on a Wednesday morning, he had gone to Mac's apartment with a key and watched as all her belongings were loaded into the truck's large trailer. By mid-day, they had pulled up to the loft to unload everything. By the time Mac had arrived that evening, all her furniture had been set-up and arranged. Harm had the numerous boxes, which Mac had labeled, stacked neatly in the corners of the rooms for which they were designated. He hadn't unpacked anything without her, other than the ones marked linens, not wanting to go through things that might invade her privacy. They would have all weekend to put everything away and organize their expanded living space. After making up her bed, he had hung towels in the bathroom, lit a few strategically placed candles and hoped that Mac would find the place cozy and comfortable.

As it turned out, Mac was pleasantly surprised.

Together, they decided that Harm's living room would be for entertainment and they set up Mac's television, VCR, and DVD player. Since the other kitchen was tiny, it would be used as little more than a snack bar; all the cooking would be done in Harm's gourmet kitchen. The added living room would become a den/study area for quiet reading or working on files and other paperwork. Mac had a very nice living room suite, including bookcases and a large desk, and they managed to fit it all in.

On the bedroom arrangement, Mac was adamant that Harm was to think of the larger room as their bedroom equally. They already shared a bed, and Mac hoped to someday share more than that. Harm was accepting of the idea as he admitted he did not sleep as well when alone and he found a comfort in waking up next to Mac. The other bedroom would make a fine guest room.

Overall, this arrangement seemed to be comfortable for them both. Mac looked forward to coming home to Harm every evening after a long day and Harm always anticipated her arrival with dinner ready and waiting. Between working out, therapy sessions, studying, doing research on the computer, homework, playing guitar, and cooking, he managed to keep occupied during the day. In addition to meal preparation, Harm also took care of all the laundry and cleaning, keeping the loft neat and spotless. It made him feel useful to do these mundane chores, knowing Mac was appreciative of his efforts, though going to the dry cleaners and food shopping were his least favorite errands. Mac also liked the fact that no longer paying rent on her former apartment freed up a sizable chunk of her income.

Then, in early March, during one of his appointments at Bethesda, Harm's doctor informed him that it was time to take the next step. Harm was to prepare to return to JAG on a Limited Duty status, the details of which would be worked out with Admiral Chegwidden. It had been six weeks since Harm had been released from the Psychiatric Inpatient Unit of the hospital and over two months since being set free by his abductor.

Just as Harm was beginning to adjust, his life was about to drastically change again.

***

Admiral Chegwidden had called a staff meeting for Friday morning at zero-nine hundred hours. The required officers were present, as was the Admiral's yeoman, Petty Officer Coates. They were all seated around the conference table as Chegwidden covered current JAG related business.

"Before we wrap this up, I have one more item to discuss of a somewhat personal nature," the Admiral paused with a sigh, as if to gather his thoughts before proceeding.

He had the undivided attention of the members of his staff, as they gazed at him expectantly. More than one of them wondered awkwardly if the Admiral was actually going to bring up the subject of the aborted wedding plans with Meredith, unable to imagine what else it could be. Only Mac looked completely neutral, and when A.J. glanced in her direction, she gave him an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.

"As you all know, Commander Rabb has been working hard on his recovery since the beginning of the year. He will be returning to JAG on Monday in a Limited Duty capacity, at which time I'll be outlining the scope and details of his duties with him."

"That's great news, sir," Bud interjected. Chegwidden gave Lt. Roberts a knowing look. Bud had been through the whole Limited Duty nightmare when he had lost his leg from a land mine in Afghanistan. It was his determination and hard work that helped him pass the Medical Review Board, enabling him to return to full duty status instead of facing a Medical Discharge. The Admiral hoped that Rabb would succeed, as well.

"Sir, how is the Commander doing?" Commander Turner asked, voicing the concerns of everyone who, like himself, didn't really understand what was going on.

"Perhaps, Colonel MacKenzie can answer that better than I could," Chegwidden acknowledged her with a nod.

"Commander Rabb is making progress, taking things day by day," Mac responded. "He's a little nervous about coming back, but I think it will be good for him to be involved and working again."

The Admiral instructed Coates to retrieve the items he had stacked on one of the shelves behind him. She carried the bundle over and placed it on the table in front of him, revealing it to be several large, thick, white, soft-covered textbooks.

"I have an assignment for those of you who have known the Commander and worked with him. I would prefer you to think of this as a favor to me rather than homework. Having said that, please get started this weekend and read what you can. Commander Rabb is a trauma survivor and I believe this material will be most helpful in our dealing effectively with him. If you have any questions or concerns, please don't hesitate to come to me." Chegwidden had spoken at length with Dr. Parnell regarding Harm's treatment and future, and then had read quite a bit of the recommended text, finding it invaluable. So much so that he bought out the few copies the bookstore had. Confident with this course of action, he began to pass out the books. "Unfortunately, I couldn't obtain more copies at this time; I'm afraid we might come up short."

"Lt. Roberts and I can share one," Harriet offered, as the Admiral handed her a copy.

Commander Turner received the next one. Chegwidden offered one to Mac, but she shook her head.

"I've been reading Commander Rabb's copy, sir. He's been working out of it for his class," Mac said, judiciously using the word class instead of group therapy. I'm sure someone else could use it. I find it very informative and it's helped me to understand a lot."

"Thank you, Colonel." Chegwidden handed the book to Lt. Commander Barnes, who looked perplexed. He didn't even know Rabb, though he sure had heard a lot about the man.

"I'm hoping you'll get to work with the Commander in the future. I think you two would work well together."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

That left one last book for Coates. "Take this one, Petty Officer. I know you've been concerned about Commander Rabb."

"Oh, thank you very much, sir. I'd do anything to help," Jennifer gushed, clutching the book to her chest, grateful to be included.

Chegwidden noted that everyone was looking intently at the book's front cover. The title of it was 'The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook.' In smaller letters underneath the title, were the words 'A Guide to Healing, Recovery, and Growth' and the author's name, Glenn R. Schiraldi, Ph.D.

The Admiral read the quote on the cover aloud. "'The most valuable, user-friendly manual on PTSD I have ever seen. Must reading for victims, their families, and their therapists.'" To explain further, he continued, "I feel that we can extend that to friends and colleagues, as well. Are there any questions?"

"Sir, does Commander Rabb have PTSD?" Harriett asked with quiet concern.

"Technically, the Commander has not yet been diagnosed with PTSD, as it's been less than three months since he has been returned to us," Chegwidden explained. "However, he suffered severe trauma during his disappearance, causing an acute stress reaction. We're hopeful that he'll make a complete recovery, of course, but I want you all to be prepared. This way, we'll better understand what his difficulties may be and, at the same time, treat him as normally as possible while he adjusts. One thing is certain; he is not comfortable talking about any of this, so just don't push him with questions." With that last statement, he looked pointedly at Petty Officer Coates, and then turned to Mac.

"Do you want to add anything, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir. I think it would be safe to say that Commander Rabb would not want anyone's pity. He'd be embarrassed if we walked on eggshells around him. While he is learning to cope with his symptoms, I know he would appreciate trying to follow as normal a routine as possible. It's just going to take some time."

"Well said, Colonel. Thank you," said Chegwidden. He had decided to remain intentionally vague, unwilling to reveal specifics about the ordeal that Rabb had survived.

"Sir, where exactly is the Commander going to be working?" Bud asked. "I'd be happy to either give him my office or share it with him."

"I see you've figured out that we will have more lawyers than we do offices, Lieutenant Roberts." The Admiral had already been aware of the problem. When Lt. Commander Barnes was brought in to replace Rabb, he was given the missing man's office, as there was no other empty office space. Now, with Rabb's miraculous return, they were actually over billeted.

"However, no one is going to move or double up. For the time being, Commander Rabb will not be assigned cases or appearing in court, and will not require his own office. Now, if that will be all, this meeting is concluded." Without further explanation, the Admiral stood to depart and headed for the door. Everyone jumped to their feet and snapped to attention.

"Carry on, people."

After Chegwidden, Barnes, and Coates left the room, Harriet, Bud, and Sturgis turned to Mac with worried, confused looks.

"Well, that was clear as mud," Turner mused. "Not so much what he said, but what he wasn't saying."

"The Admiral is in a difficult position between wanting to help the Commander and needing to protect his privacy as much as possible," Mac explained calmly. "He's hoping that this reading material will give us a better understanding in order to make things easier for Harm's transition back to JAG."

"Power through knowledge," Bud quipped. "Colonel, do you have any idea what the Commander will be doing around here?"

"All I know is that he is to report to the Admiral at ten hundred hours on Monday. I suppose we'll find out what the plan is then."

"Ma'am, is Commander Rabb going to be all right?" asked Harriet. "He obviously has been through a lot."

Mac sighed, a sad expression flashing across her face for just a moment. "He's a different man now. I don't know if he'll ever be the same person he was before."

"He's a survivor, Colonel. Just take things one day at a time. Fortunately, he has people who care. If there is anything any of us can do to help – " Turner offered. Bud and Harriet nodded in agreement.

"Thank you all. I'm sure it means a lot to him to have your support and your friendship." Mac smiled. "I'd better get back to work."

As she headed to her office, she overheard Harriet and Bud talking as they crossed the bullpen.

"Maybe this weekend, I could bake a batch of my oatmeal raisin cookies the Commander is so fond of, and bring them in on Monday," said Harriet.

"Oh, I think that's a splendid idea," Bud replied.

 

***

Sunday morning found Harm irritable and anxious. He had finished an intense workout session of weight lifting and aerobic exercise that had lasted two solid hours, which had tired him physically, but had done nothing to improve his mood. After a shave and a long, hot shower, he dressed and paced aimlessly around the loft. He grabbed a banana to munch on and a small glass of orange juice to wash it down with and wandered into the den, where Mac was sitting at the desk, looking over some paperwork. Not wanting to interrupt her concentration, he turned and retreated back the way he came without saying a word.

By the time Mac looked up, all she saw was Harm leaving the room. It did not escape her that he seemed unusually restless this morning, and she realized he was actually nervous about going to JAG Headquarters the next day. Mac finished up her notes in preparation for the following day and put her papers back into her briefcase. Heading towards the other side of the loft, she began to think about what to do about lunch.

She found Harm in the kitchen, swallowing yet another antacid, something she had noted with growing concern that he was doing with increasing frequency lately.

"I was going to ask you if were hungry," Mac said, approaching him from the side.

Harm turned and set his bottle of water on the counter. "I just had a snack, but I think the orange juice is disagreeing with me." He definitely looked distracted. "Maybe a little later?"

"No rush," Mac smiled in reply. "So, tomorrow's a big day."

"I guess," Harm shrugged.

"It'll be good to have you back. Are you nervous?"

Harm broke his eye contact with her, realizing she had gotten pretty good at reading him, and hung his head. "Yeah. I am. I'm kind of dreading it, actually."

"Harm, you'll be fine. Try not to worry; everything will be all right." Mac stroked his arm reassuringly. "You'll be around people you know, and I'll be there with you."

"I know. I guess it's the not knowing what to expect; that never used to bother me before..."

Harm trailed off, not needing to finish what was left unspoken. Sighing, he walked over to the sofa and sat down, legs sprawled, his elbow leaning on the sofa's arm as he rubbed his forehead. He barely glanced up as Mac came over to stand in front of him.

"Got any plans for this afternoon? We could go do something to take your mind off things."

"Nah," Harm shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mac. I'm just not good company today and I don't feel like going out anywhere." This was Harm's way of politely saying that he was feeling agoraphobic and wanted to be left alone.

Mac sensed that and didn't press. "That's okay. I understand. What would you like to do then?"

"I don't know. I sure don't feel like writing in my journal or working on any of the other therapy stuff. You know, just for one day, I wish I could forget everything and just not *think* about any of it. I mean, it's always *there*, you know?" Harm shook his head, shoulders sagging in defeat. "Hell, I'd settle for just a few hours of freedom from my mind."

Mac was at a loss as to what to say to that. Harm seemed particularly down; it was not one of his better days. She dropped onto the couch, sitting next to him and putting a comforting arm around his shoulder. Harm stiffened at her touch, tempted to shrug her off. After a few moments hesitation, Mac doggedly forged ahead and began to rub his back.

"There must be something we can do to distract you for a little while," Mac said, trying to be helpful and supportive.

Harm made a snorting sound of disgust. "Nah, I doubt it." Then he added, so quietly that Mac barely heard him, "There is no escape from my thoughts ... or my life." Then, finally, he slumped against Mac with a long sigh, giving into his need for the comfort she was offering.

As Mac held him, she had the feeling that tomorrow was going to be a long day.

***

The Monday morning staff meeting had ended a short while ago, and Admiral Chegwidden stood at his office window, savoring a much needed, strong cup of coffee. As he looked down over the parking lot, he noticed Commander Rabb's Lexus pull into one of the few open spaces. A.J. glanced down at his watch, noting that the time was zero-nine thirty.

'Rabb is actually early for once,' the Judge Advocate General thought to himself with a smirk. Standing there a few moments longer, he became aware that the Commander was not exiting the vehicle. Chegwidden had ordered Rabb to report to him at ten hundred hours with the hope that, by missing the morning rush hour, it would make the trip to Headquarters a bit easier on the man.

Harm sat in his car in the cold, trying to get a grip on his fear. He had allowed plenty of time for the commute, but now he had extra time to kill before reporting to the Admiral's office. The thought of hanging around in the bullpen being fussed over by a bunch of people who meant well made him feel a little more than queasy. So, he sat there, trying to shore up his courage to go into the building. As he did so, he remembered the previous occasions that had caused him to leave and return to JAG. The first time had been to resume his career as a pilot. Though successful for a time, it would have been a dead end in the long run and better left to the younger up and coming top guns. The second return to JAG, after his short-lived stint with the CIA, had been even more awkward; as Harm had felt a definite shift in the way his Commanding Officer treated him. Since Chegwidden had processed Harm's resignation while Harm was rescuing Mac and Webb from certain death in the Paraguay mission, Harm had felt fortunate to be taken back at all. Those two situations combined, however, had nothing on this current one. He might have been a little unsure of his place after those absences, but now he had a downright sense of foreboding and dread. Harm just hoped he could keep from panicking.

Ten minutes later, Chegwidden peered out the window again, and Rabb was still sitting in his car. Though he knew he had to be imagining it, A.J. could have sworn that he could see Harm trembling. With a sigh, he moved to his desk and punched one of the buttons on his telephone, connecting him to Mac's office.

"Colonel, I need you to do something for me. ... Please go down to the parking lot, retrieve Commander Rabb from his car, and escort him directly to my office. ... Thank you."

After he hung up the phone, he muttered, "No sense in letting him suffer any longer than he has to."

Looking out through his doorway a few minutes later, Chegwidden observed as Mac strode quickly through the bullpen with Harm following on her heels, an attempt at a smile frozen on the Commander's face as he acknowledged all the greetings and well wishes from various JAG staff with a simple nod. Harm seemed almost relieved to duck into the Admiral's office, out of sight of all the curious eyes following him. With his overcoat draped over one forearm, he clutched his cover in his hand and was instructed to close the door.

After acknowledging the formal 'reporting for duty' spiel, Chegwidden indicated for Harm to take a seat. He hoped the informal start to this meeting would put Harm at ease, but it seemed that the nervous, drawn looking man was simply not going to relax. It did not go unnoticed that Rabb's uniform hung somewhat loosely on him, his face was pale, and his eyes still seemed haunted.

Harm, meanwhile, was concentrating all his efforts and experience on maintaining his military bearing, as the Admiral sat behind his desk and started off with a bit of small talk and asked him how he was doing.

"I'm alive, sir," Harm answered solemnly. It was a safe and truthful response that he had gotten into the habit of using lately.

Chegwidden, who had been glancing at a file in front of him, looked up over the rim of his reading glasses and stared intently at Rabb.

"You know, I've had a long discussion with Dr. Parnell," he began.

From that point on, Chegwidden had done most of the talking, asking questions, and receiving short, soft-spoken responses from the subdued man. It was like pulling teeth, but he wanted to get a sense of where Rabb's head was. It became clear to him that Rabb did not possess the confidence to jump back into a full load of investigative casework, never mind the pressure of court hearings. Rabb's abductor had destroyed his self-esteem and left him too traumatized to function under stress. This was confirmed by the doctor's reports, but it was still difficult for the Admiral to see that for himself.

"Here's my plan for the time being," Chegwidden stated, handing Rabb a sheet of paper from the file folder on his desk. "This outlines your limited duty work schedule. The hours are part-time and won't interfere with your scheduled appointments at Bethesda. I don't have an office for you at this time, because we are currently over billeted."

Harm's eyebrow rose upward with the realization that, naturally, a replacement would have been brought in after he went missing. It just hadn't really occurred to him before now.

"I'm not going to double anyone up, either," A. J. continued. However, you'll be set up temporarily in a corner of the law library, with a desk, supplies and a computer. You won't have a landline phone in there, but it's a quiet place, anyway. I've assumed you would prefer that to a cubicle in the bullpen with all the enlisted staff."

"Thank you, sir," Harm nodded in quick agreement. "Um ... what will I be doing?"

"For now, research, mostly," Chegwidden replied. "I think it's too soon to put you back into the courtroom, or even interviewing clients or witnesses. You'll be assisting the other attorneys with their cases by handling research and other paperwork for them, and I'll have some rather detailed projects for you to work on for me." At this point, the Admiral half expected some resistance from Rabb on being assigned such mundane tasks. "I know it sounds pretty boring, but I won't assign you more responsibilities until I feel you are ready. Let's ease you into the swing of things and see how it goes."

"I completely understand, sir," Rabb said quietly. "I appreciate your patience and the opportunity to focus on work instead of ... other things."

"Well, Commander, I want to see you reach your twenty year mark. I'll do what I can to protect your career so that, at the very least, you'll achieve that goal."

"Thank you, sir," Harm said sincerely.

Chegwidden leaned back in his chair. "If you should need to make phone calls or just need a little privacy, I'm sure Colonel MacKenzie or Lieutenant Roberts would allow you access to their offices when they're not using them. Oh, and I believe the Colonel has your briefcase. Now, go get yourself acclimated and reacquainted with our staff and then find Petty Officer Coates. She will introduce you to the new personnel that haven't met you, yet, and is to assist you with everything you need to set up your workspace. She has also retrieved a box from storage containing the rest of your personal items from your former office. When you're all finished, you can secure for the day, but be ready to work starting tomorrow morning. That will be all."

"Aye-aye, sir." Harm got up out of the chair as quickly as he could and headed for the door, then stopped to turn back for a moment.

"Admiral, I hope I won't let you down," he said with a slight waver in his voice.

"Just try your best, son," Chegwidden said gently. "That's all I'll ask of you."

With one quick nod, Commander Rabb exited and pulled the door closed behind him.

The first thing Harm did was to find Mac for a bit of much needed moral support. She was at her desk and he stopped in the doorway to her office, looking a little lost.

"How did it go?" asked Mac, puzzled by the strange expression on Harm's face.

"Okay, I think," he said, releasing a long, deep breath. "Ah ... better than I expected even." As he fiddled with the cover in his hand, Mac got up, came around her desk, and reached for it.

"Here. Give me that and your coat, too. You can keep your things in here if you want."

"That would be great. I don't want to get in your way, though. Are you busy?"

"Not at the moment. I have a few minutes."

"I'm supposed to meet the new officer and was wondering ... ah ... if you could introduce me."

"Of course. Let's go," she said brightly.

They walked over to Harm's former office, just as Lieutenant Commander Barnes was coming out.

"Good morning, Colonel, Commander," Barnes said with a cheerful smile, scrutinizing Harm. Before they could respond, he continued. "You must be Harmon Rabb. I'm Shawn Barnes." He stuck out his hand. "Glad to finally meet you."

Harm didn't respond right away or reciprocate the offer of a handshake. Mac looked up at him and found him with a stunned expression on his face. In fact, she knew that look. It looked strangely similar to the one he wore when he first laid eyes on Mac more than seven years ago, like he had seen a ghost.

"Harm? Are you all right?" Mac asked warily.

"What? Sorry, um, nice to meet you." Harm returned the handshake, absent-mindedly, as he continued to stare at Barnes.

"Problem?" Shawn's smile faded.

"No, really. I'm sorry; you just really remind me of someone I know ... uh ... knew," Harm stammered.

"Hope that's not a bad thing," Barnes grinned. "Looking forward to working with you, sir; I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Some good things, I hope," Harm said feebly. He was now white as a sheet and breaking out in a sweat. The phone in Shawn's office rang.

"Excuse me, Commander, Colonel. Duty calls." Barnes retreated back into his office and Harm made a beeline for the rest room. He vaguely heard Mac call after him.

Mac hunted Bud down and asked him to go into the men's room to check on the Commander. By the time he got there, Harm was splashing water on his face.

"Ma'am, he says he's fine," Bud said to a waiting Mac, upon his return.

When Harm finally reappeared a few minutes later, he had gotten himself back under some semblance of control, or at least he thought he had.

"What's wrong, Harm?" Mac whispered to him. "You had the strangest look on your face."

"It's nothing," Harm mumbled with a shake of his head.

"Don't tell me it's nothing," Mac pressed quietly, placing her hand on Harm's shoulder. "Who does Barnes remind you of?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harm hissed with teeth clenched, vehemently shrugging his shoulder to brush her hand off. His eyes darted around the bullpen to see if anyone noticed his behavior. "I have to go see Petty Officer Coates," he said, abruptly changing the subject and stalked off towards her desk, leaving Mac to stare at his retreating back in bewilderment.

Harm was not about to tell her, or anyone else, that even though the Lieutenant Commander's hair was more of a strawberry blond and he was a few years older, his facial features and muscular build bore a striking resemblance to the master's sandy-haired henchman. The similarities were uncanny and threw Harm off balance with a flood of memories from that terrible time not so long ago. Not only that, it gave him a strong feeling of déjà vu, as he also remembered the day, long ago, when he had met Mac for the first time and had seen the face of Diane, his dead girlfriend.

***

The next two weeks passed without major incident, as Harm tried to lose himself in the methodical research of legal briefs, case files and various other documents and computer records. Each morning he would set up the laptop assigned to him and gather information for the attorneys who requested his knowledge of military law and his vast experience, and would assist them with their cases in various other ways. When time allowed, Chegwidden had him going through old case files and compiling reports. Harm sensed that some of it, at least, was busy work that no one else wanted or had time to do, but he didn't care. It kept him occupied, although he definitely had a problem with maintaining focus. His mind wandered frequently, as distracting thoughts would intrude, breaking his concentration for anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes at a time. In a related problem, Harm discovered how poor his short-term memory had become. He used to have an excellent recall for details; now, if he didn't write down what people told him or make a list of things he was supposed to do, it would quickly be forgotten. That frustration, combined with the stress of being around so many people, would take its toll on Harm's fragile psyche.

Even with Harm's light schedule, he found it exhausting, mainly because he was always on alert, never relaxing. He had an exaggerated startle response; anyone entering a room or coming up behind him never failed to elicit a reaction of surprise. To avoid feeling snuck up on, Harm tried, whenever possible, to keep his back to a wall, whether he was sitting or standing.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were his longest days, where Harm was expected in at zero-nine hundred and would retreat to his place in the law library until he was allowed to leave at fifteen thirty. On Mondays, he would arrive after his morning appointment with his counselor, Sally, and on Wednesdays he left at fourteen hundred, in order to make it to his standing appointment with Dr. Parnell. Fridays was his shortest day at Headquarters, as he had a two-hour group therapy class that started at thirteen hundred hours. The Admiral believed this structured schedule was good for Harm, as well as making it easy for the other lawyers to know when the Commander was available for help. He had also let Harm know that if he had any kind of problem, he should not be afraid to come to him.

Harm was always relieved that he could make the trip home before the traffic got really bad. Each day seemed to wipe him out mentally. He continued to be diligent about doing chores and getting in a workout in the mornings, so that he could unwind when he got home. He would prepare dinner and have it waiting, but it wasn't unusual for Mac to find him snoozing on the couch, surrounded by soothing, meditative music, when she finally arrived at the loft at the end of her day.

The staff meeting on the following Monday was held at the usual time. As Harm was not expected to arrive until later that morning, Chegwidden ended business at hand with a question about Commander Rabb.

"I'm going to ask a few of you to give me an honest assessment on how Commander Rabb is doing and please tell me if there is anything you think I should know about." The Admiral looked at Commander Turner first.

"To be completely candid, Commander Rabb is wound quite tightly," Sturgis stated succinctly. "His decision-making skills are understandably weak right now. I don't think he has the confidence to survive the courtroom, yet, though he might be able to handle some investigative work."

"Thank you, Commander," the Admiral nodded thoughtfully. "Lieutenant Roberts?"

"Well, he might be a little jumpy, but I think he's managing pretty well under the circumstances," Bud said optimistically and in Harm's defense. "He's certainly been very conscientious and helpful with my cases, sir."

"Any thoughts, Commander Barnes?"

The Lieutenant Commander looked a bit surprised at the unexpected question from the Admiral. "Sir, I didn't know Commander Rabb before, so all I can offer is that the discussions we've had have been a learning experience for me. His intuitiveness and knowledge of the law is invaluable and his research appears methodical and thorough."

Chegwidden turned to Mac. "What do you think, Colonel? How is the Commander managing his workload? Does he find the assigned tasks to be mundane or demeaning of his expertise?"

"Not at all, sir. If anything, he has concerns that he is useless and not able to pull his weight. He feels guilty for not bouncing back as quickly as he thinks he should," Mac explained. "I do believe having work to focus his attention on is good for him. However, realistically we should not expect the old Harmon Rabb to come back. He is a different person now."

"Thank you all for your insights," Chegwidden said. "I tend to agree that we should not expect too much, too soon. It's been only a couple of weeks and the Commander's insecurity is to be expected. No specific time limit has been set on his limited duty status, so, as long as I can keep the SECNAV out of the loop, we will maintain status quo. Just continue to interact with him normally and keep him involved in your cases whenever possible. That will be all." With that, the Admiral stood and everyone got up and came to attention as he walked away from the conference table.

Waiting until the other officers had gone their separate ways, Shawn followed Mac as she headed towards her office.

"Excuse me, Colonel?"

Mac stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"Would it be possible to speak with you for a moment, privately?"

"Certainly. Let's step into my office." Mac ushered Barnes in and shut the door. "What's on your mind?"

"It concerns Commander Rabb, ma'am," Barnes said, then hesitated. "If I'm overstepping the boundaries, please let me know."

"I will. Go on."

"I didn't want to say anything in the staff meeting, but, you remember the day the Commander and I first met; he had such a strange reaction, like he had seen a ghost or something. Ever since then, he seems, I don't know, a bit spooked around me. I obviously make him uncomfortable and I don't know how to put him at ease. I can't help but wonder who I remind him of." Shawn paused and looked at Mac, seeking guidance.

"I've tried to find out, but he absolutely refuses to discuss it," Mac said with a sigh. "However, I have a strong feeling that you just happen to bear more than a passing resemblance to ... someone from his past."

Shawn lifted an eyebrow at Mac's statement. "Ma'am, I've heard the scuttlebutt here about how Commander Rabb was missing for seven weeks and that his disappearance wasn't by his choice. That, combined with the fact that the Admiral had us reading up on trauma survivors and Post Traumatic Stress, well, I've figured out that I must look like the guy who abducted him. I can't imagine what he went through, but I hate the thought of being a *trigger* every time he sees me."

Mac looked at Barnes sympathetically. She found him to be a compassionate, hard-working, and capable man who made an excellent addition to the JAG Corps.

"I'm afraid I've come to the same conclusion. You probably look like one of the men who held him captive. Trust me, Commander Rabb will get used to it and come to know that you are not that other person. Try not to take it personally." Mac gave Shawn an enigmatic smile.

"Oh, I won't, ma'am. Maybe if I understood more about what happened to him, I could avoid saying or doing the wrong thing."

"Now you're close to stepping over that line, Commander," Mac smirked. "Besides, it's not my story to tell."

"Understood, Colonel. Thank you for your time."

***

The following day proved to be a very difficult one for Commander Rabb.

The morning had already started off badly. Harm was cranky from lack of sleep, having been up most of the night with a stomachache. As part of their routine each morning, Mac would make sure he was awake before she left for work. When she tried to rouse him this morning, her lighthearted teasing backfired on her.

"Come on, up and at 'em, flyboy. Don't want you to oversleep and be late for work," Mac said playfully.

Harm practically growled, not moving from the bed. There were times he could find the strength to handle some of the odd and different things that triggered the bad memories. This was not one of them. "Could you not call me that?" he snapped.

"What? You mean 'flyboy'?" Mac sounded perplexed. "I don't remember that ever bothering you before."

"Yeah, well, that was ... before," replied Harm, waving his hand through the air for emphasis, before letting it flop back down on the bed. "Now I hate it."

"Why, Harm?" Mac gave him a hard, tense look. "Tell me."

Harm got a faraway look. The length of the silence was about to drive Mac crazy, as she wondered if he was going to say anything more. He rolled over, turning away from her gaze.

"It ..." Harm swallowed hard. "It reminds me of the names my m – my captor called me."

Mac did not understand exactly what Harm meant, but she sat on the edge of the bed and waited, in case he explained further.

"Flyboy. Sounds too much like 'pretty boy', 'sweet boy', or sometimes he'd just call me 'boy'. I had no name. I ... never mind." Harm decided abruptly to say no more on the subject.

"Oh, Harm. I'm so sorry. I had no idea," Mac said, reaching over and stroking his arm. It was one of those rare moments when he would share with her a tiny detail of his horrifying experience, and she had decided she would take what she could get.

"It's all right. No way you could've known," Harm said, and then buried his face in the pillow, ignoring her hand.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," Harm said sullenly. "You better get going."

Mac wasn't convinced, but she didn't push it. With one last squeeze and a pat on Harm's arm, she got up and prepared to leave. "All right, then. I'll see you there."

"Yeah, okay."

***

Once at Headquarters, Harm was even more unnerved and irritable. On his way to Falls Church, he had stopped to fill up the gas tank and the white haired, fifty-something year old station attendant had caused him to do a double take, the man's face reminding him of his master. A few days before that, it had been a bagger at the supermarket. Harm spent the morning trying to shake it off, disgusted with himself for still thinking of that psychopath as *his master* and for letting those thoughts consume his mind.

It had been one of those mornings where anything and everything that could go wrong did. At least, it seemed that way to Harm. He wasn't having any luck with the computer either. When he couldn't find the file of a report he had been working on the day before, it left him completely frustrated. Plus, he kept getting interrupted by various people needing his opinion or advice on one thing or another. Harm was tired of pretending he was fine. Hell, he realized, he was just so damn tired of all of it.

After a short conversation with Lieutenant Commander Barnes in his office to compare notes on a case, Harm stepped back out into the bullpen, hoping to escape to the quiet haven of the law library. The fact that Barnes looked similar to the sandy-haired assistant from the basement dungeon still made Harm uneasy, but hopefully he would become accustomed to seeing Barnes without being startled. Fortunately, the differences became more apparent as Harm got to know him. He could see that Barnes was easy going, with high moral standards and an excellent work ethic. Admiring the family photos displayed in Shawn's office, Harm could tell that the man was devoted to his wife, son, and two daughters. Nothing seemed to rattle the man; he appeared calm and even-tempered to Harm. Harm remembered how he used to be confident and in control like that and he found himself to be more than a little envious of the Lieutenant Commander's apparently smooth and happy life.

Before Harm could get very far, Lieutenant Roberts, who was just coming back from the break room, passed by and managed to corner him with a question. They stood off to the side to discuss it.

A few minutes later, Admiral Chegwidden opened the door to exit his office, with the intent of going out to lunch, and he caught wind of something amiss in the bullpen. The atmosphere was charged with a strange absence of the usual, bustling activity of people talking and work being done. Instead, it almost appeared that, whether sitting or standing, all of the staff members were frozen in place and looking in the same direction. The only sounds were that of a loud, raised male voice, nearly hysterical in its intensity. It was apparent to Chegwidden that he was catching the tail end of a heated, though one-sided, argument.

" … And just get the fuck off my back, Bud!" Rabb was worked up and red in the face, pointing a finger at Roberts, who stood in front of him with jaw hanging open, shocked by the Commander's loss of temper. Rabb had never been known to use foul language, even at his angriest moments.

"FUCK! Why can't everybody just leave me the fuck alone?" Harm yelled, gesturing wildly with his arms.

Bud may have been too stunned to respond, but the Admiral burst through his door and stalked across the bullpen, furious at his senior officer's behavior. Somewhere, a voice hollered out "Attention on deck!" and everyone in the room jumped up or snapped to attention right where they were, including a wide-eyed Lieutenant Roberts.

Harm froze as well and his commanding officer wasted no time getting right in his face, stepping in front of Bud to do so.

"I don't care what is going on here, *Mister*, but if I ever witness such disgraceful behavior out of you again, I'll have you up on charges of conduct unbecoming so fast you won't know what hit you." Chegwidden's voice was low and deadly dangerous, making Harm shudder. "Do you understand me?"

Harm, with a horrified expression on his face, opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The Admiral's angry face blurred in front of him and became the master's face. The bullpen faded away around him and he was back in the cold, gray basement prison.

Even, as he watched Rabb's eyes glaze over and lose focus, Chegwidden could not have been more unprepared for what happened next. One moment they were face-to-face, mere inches apart, and in the next, Harm was gone.

The Commander dropped like a stone, landing hard on his knees, and then falling forward onto his elbows. He dropped his head to the floor at the Admiral's feet.

"Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god … I'm sorry, master!" Harm cried out between ragged breaths, from his position of submission on the floor, with his ass end up in the air. His entire body shook violently, as he half-sobbed, half-begged. "Please, master, … don't punish me … I'll do better … please … I'll be a good boy … I promise … just don't hurt me anymore … master … give me another chance … please … please …"

Everyone in the room was collectively stunned by the shocking display. A few gasps could be heard. Harriet was near tears and Jennifer had her hand over her mouth.

Chegwidden sprang into action first, immediately crouching down to try and get through to Rabb.

"Dear-god, Commander, no one is going to hurt you." He grabbed a hold of Rabb's arm and pulled with the intent of helping him up off the hard floor. Although it was too late for any hope of dignity to remain intact, he wanted the man out of that position as quickly as possible. Harm wrenched away from his hold and fell over onto his backside, eyes unseeing and wide with panic.

"No … no … don't," Harm gasped between stuttering, heaving breaths. He was completely disoriented, not recognizing anyone or where he was, and continued his litany. "No … please … master … no."

"A-a-h-h-h, Harm, I am so sorry," Chegwidden said with deep regret, reaching a hand out towards the terrified man, slowly this time. "Come on, son, it's all right. Let me help you."

Harm shook his head and seemed to have difficulty breathing. Scrabbling backwards with his hands on the floor, he slid a few feet on his butt until his back hit against a wall and stopped him. At least he was sitting upright, and he drew his knees up protectively to his chest.

Barnes, who had come out of his office to see what the commotion had been about just as Chegwidden had crossed the bullpen, had witnessed the entire scene. He was the next person to move.

"Admiral, maybe I can be of help, sir," Barnes said softly, as he too crouched down to Harm's level, kneeling in front of him. "Does he have any medication with him?" he asked Chegwidden.

The Admiral looked up at Roberts, who was too shocked to do anything but stare. "Lieutenant, find Colonel MacKenzie, now."

"Yes, sir," Bud responded, finally startled into action, relieved to have something useful to do. He took off, practically running.

"I believe he carries something, but I don't think he's going to let us touch him, much less check through his pockets," Chegwidden said resignedly.

"He's having a major flashback episode and panic attack all rolled into one," Barnes said, stating the obvious. "The hyperventilating is my immediate concern."

Harm's eyes were darting all around the room, as he huddled against the wall. He had finally stopped repeating the words 'no' and 'please'. Barnes began talking in a soothing voice to him, trying to bring him back to the here and now. From his kneeling position, he leaned back, resting on his heels, looking placid and non-aggressive.

"Hey, Commander. Look, it's me, Shawn, and Admiral Chegwidden is right here, too. Take a deep breath. Focus on my voice. Come on, you can do this. Deep breath in, and then let it out slowly. You're at JAG Headquarters; it's very safe here. You're safe. See? Breathe with me, now." He had Harm's full attention as he inhaled deeply. Harm inhaled, too, his breath hitching raggedly as he trembled. Shawn blew out his breath and Harm sighed along with him, fear slowly dissipating and awareness beginning to return.

"You're not him," Harm said suddenly, staring intently at Barnes.

"Who?"

"One of the master's goons who drugged me, kidnapped me and … helped him t-torture me."

"No, I'm not him," Shawn smiled gently. "I'm Shawn Barnes. We work together, here at JAG. Do you know where you are, Commander?"

Harm looked around, confused, seeing all the worried faces, and then looked at Chegwidden, crouched in front of him. "Admiral? What hap –?" Harm's face suddenly screwed up with renewed horror, as the devastating realization of what had transpired began to dawn on him.

"O-o-h-g-a-a-w-w-w-d!" he wailed in abject despair, dropping his head down and covering his face with both hands. "He was here … I saw him … I – I thought he was here."

"He's not here; he was never here," Chegwidden stated emphatically. "Listen to me, Harm, you're safe now. Everything is going to be all right. We'll help you get through this."

"How? I keep seeing him everywhere. They hurt me so bad, Admiral. I can't go through that again. I can't deal with any of this … I can't." Then, Harm began sobbing openly, unable to cope with the humiliation of having his meltdown witnessed by his colleagues.

"Ah, Jesus, Harm," the Admiral sighed, feeling helpless. "I swear; things will eventually get better." He looked around. "All right, people, stop hovering and give us some space. Go back to work, nothing more to see here. Where the hell is Mac?"

As personnel silently moved away, Bud came barreling around the corner with Mac in tow.

"Harm?"

"M-Mac?" Harm looked up with blood shot eyes, his face streaked with tears.

"Oh, Harm," Mac sighed, kneeling next to him as carefully as her uniform skirt would allow.

"Does he carry any meds with him, Colonel?" asked Chegwidden.

"Yes, they should be here somewhere." First, Mac patted Harm's knee. In response, he straightened out one leg, allowing her access to his Service Dress Blues coat. He was breathing a little easier, but she had never seen him look quite so miserable. He watched her warily as she reached inside to the inner breast pocket, and extricated a small prescription bottle. "Can we get some water?" She tapped one small white pill, then a second one, onto her palm and recapped the bottle.

"I'll get it," Bud offered, taking off quickly.

"Hey, Harm. How are you doing?" Mac asked. She had felt a folded handkerchief in the same pocket, so she pulled it out and tenderly wiped it across his wet cheeks. He leaned into her hand.

"Mac, I need to get out of here," Harm whispered, taking his handkerchief from her hand to rub at his eyes. "Please. I just want to go h-home."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," she replied, glancing at the Admiral. He nodded in agreement. Now that Harm had Mac with him, Chegwidden went ahead and got back up to his feet.

Bud came up beside Mac, handing her a cup of water.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Mac placed the pills in Harm's hand and held the cup out to him. "Here. Take these and drink some water."

Harm obediently and without question popped the two little white tablets in his mouth and gulped down the water. He then noticed Bud standing nervously nearby.

"Oh-god, Bud, I'm so sorry," Harm said, his voice wavering. He started shaking again. "I never meant any of the things I said to you."

"I know, Commander. It was my fault; I shouldn't have kept pestering you the way I did. I'm really sorry, sir," Bud said anxiously. He felt he was to blame for being the one who sent Harm over the edge.

"No!" Harm exclaimed vehemently. "Not your fault. I don't know what came over me. I was stressed out and I lost my temper and took it out on you." He choked back a sob, getting upset all over again for the inability to control his fluctuating emotions. Utterly humiliated, he ducked his head down and turned his face away towards Mac's shoulder, wishing he could simply disappear. "Aw, crap," he mumbled, the words muffled by Mac's jacket sleeve.

"Sir, your reaction was completely understandable," Barnes said in Harm's defense. "You were experiencing a 'flooding of emotions' and I'm guessing that was caused by the cumulative effect of several stressors or triggers leading up to it."

Harm's head shot up to stare at Barnes, seeing the concern in the younger man's eyes. Even the Admiral turned and raised an eyebrow at the Lieutenant Commander's astute explanation.

"H-how do you know about that?" Harm stammered.

Barnes shrugged and then stood up. "How about we get you out of here, sir?" he said, offering a hand to Harm.

"I'm all for that, but I think I … uh … need some help. My kneecaps are killing me and I have no idea why."

"You fell, Commander," Chegwidden stated, as he offered Mac a hand up. She rose gracefully to her feet, straightening her uniform. "You don’t remember?"

"No, sir, I guess not." Harm looked even more confused.

Together, Chegwidden and Barnes pulled Rabb up to his feet. Harm lurched dizzily in Shawn's direction. Reacting quickly, Shawn maneuvered his shoulder under Harm's armpit, supporting the taller man to keep him upright.

"A bit lightheaded, sir?" Barnes asked.

Harm nodded. "I feel so … drained."

"Totally normal and expected, sir. Don't worry; I've got you." Barnes glanced at the Colonel and the Admiral. "Where to?"

"Let him rest in the Colonel's office," said Chegwidden.

"Admiral, I need to apologize for my outburst. I have no excuse, sir," Harm said shakily.

"Don't blame yourself, Commander. It's over now. Let's move on, shall we?" In his mind, Chegwidden berated himself, thinking, 'Christ, I could have handled that better.' In his angry haste to diffuse an unacceptable situation, he had instead exacerbated it. Now, it reminded him just how fragile Rabb still was.

Leaning on Shawn, Harm hobbled over to Mac's office and collapsed in a chair. Shawn closed the blinds to give Harm privacy from the prying eyes of those in the bullpen.

"Colonel, how long before his medication kicks in?" asked Chegwidden.

"Anywhere between a half hour to an hour, sir. Normally, he gets by with one dose. Lieutenant Roberts told me what happened, and when I saw him, I knew it was a particularly bad spell, so I gave him a second pill." Mac glanced worriedly over to her office.

"Maybe we should be taking him to the hospital, Colonel, but I'll leave it up to you."

"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary, sir. The medicine takes the edge off the anxiety, calms him. He'll get a bit drowsy, but it won't knock him out," explained Mac.

Barnes appeared the doorway. As he came out of the office, they heard him say, "Hang in there, sir." Then, he pulled the door closed behind him.

"How is the Commander feeling?" Chegwidden asked quietly. The normal hubbub of the bullpen had finally resumed.

"Well, sir, though he's more embarrassed than anything else, he's also exhausted and still a little shaky. He doesn't seem to remember all the details of the flashback part, but the entire experience took a lot out of him."

"Colonel, make arrangements to have him taken home. I definitely don't want him driving. Tell him not to come in tomorrow, but he had better keep his scheduled appointment at Bethesda."

"Yes, sir."

The Admiral turned back to Barnes. "Commander, you handled yourself commendably in a tense situation. You were very good with Commander Rabb."

"Thank you, sir. I was just glad I could help," Barnes said graciously.

"Well, not only did you remain level-headed, you have obviously studied the reading material," Chegwidden said. Mac nodded in agreement.

"Sir, my understanding of the subject matter doesn't just come from books, I'm afraid," Barnes replied matter-of-factly. From the scrutinizing looks that both the Admiral and the Colonel were giving him, he surmised that he was expected to elaborate. "My family and I have had some trials and tribulations of our own. You see, my son, the eldest child, has had severe emotional problems. We've been through lots of therapy and family counseling over the past few years. It was hard on all of us." Shawn noticed the looks of concern. "Oh, not to worry, he's doing much better now, although still painfully shy. He just turned thirteen, so I hope to survive the teenage stuff, as well," Shawn said, resolutely.

"It must have been very difficult," Mac said sympathetically. "No wonder you have such a clear understanding of some of the things Commander Rabb is going through."

"It's amazing what the human spirit can survive, ma'am. You know, I see that haunted look in Commander Rabb's eyes and I remember how I used to see that same look in my son's eyes. Sometimes, I still wonder how differently he might have turned out under normal circumstances," Barnes said wistfully.

At that moment, Chegwidden noticed that Barnes suddenly looked uncomfortable and unsure of himself, as though he had said too much.

"How long have you been dealing with this?" asked Mac.

"Since Patrick was nine, ma'am," Shawn replied, with a sigh. "All I can say is it takes time. Be patient and don't give up. And, if you ever need any help of any kind, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Commander. I'll keep that in mind," Mac answered. "I'd better go check on the Commander now."

"If there's nothing else, I should get back to work, Admiral, Colonel."

"Carry on, Colonel, Commander," Chegwidden nodded.

"Aye-aye, sir," came the response in unison.

As Chegwidden departed the premises, he thought about what Barnes had said and he felt that he had gained some insight into his newest attorney. A first hand traumatic experience would have been bad enough, but when it's your child that is suffering or in danger, it's even worse. He remembered how frantic and helpless he had felt when his daughter, Francesca, had been kidnapped in Italy. Something else in the back of his mind nudged at his memory further, reminding him to review the Lieutenant Commander's personnel file upon return to his office later.

Unfortunately, Mac's schedule did not permit her to leave, so Harm had to take a cab home. Since this left her with the dilemma of Harm's vehicle being stuck at Headquarters, she decided to ask Barnes for a favor.

At the end of their workday, Shawn drove Harm's Lexus, following Mac out to the loft. She gave him a ride back to his car at JAG, using the opportunity for a more in depth conversation with him.

While Shawn waited in the passenger's seat of Mac's Corvette, Mac had run upstairs to check on Harm. A few minutes later, they headed back to Falls Church.

"Ma'am, Is Commander Rabb all right?"

"He's resting," Mac replied. "He barely noticed my coming or going. It's been a rough day."

"That it has, ma'am," Barnes agreed. "The Commander is fortunate to have your support, Colonel. You're a good friend."

"I care deeply about him," Mac sighed. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm helping enough. I wish I could do more … if only I knew more, I could handle it better."

"Trust me, you're helping," said Shawn. "The healing process is his journey to take, but knowing that you're there for him makes it easier than if he had to take it alone."

"H-m-m-m, you sound quite insightful. At the risk of overstepping the boundaries, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, ma'am, you may," Shawn answered, turning his head left to look at Mac while she kept her eyes on the road.

"You said something earlier about what you saw in Harm's eyes, and well, I was wondering, what happened to your son?"

Shawn steeled himself before he answered. "About four years ago, he suffered a terrible, traumatic experience. Not only was he profoundly affected and psychologically scarred, it destroyed our faith and nearly our family in the process." He paused, collecting his thoughts.

"How awful," Mac interjected. "I'm sorry; you don't have to feel obligated to tell me any more than that."

"No, it's okay. It's just been a while since I've talked about it to anyone, well, anyone outside of therapists and counselors. It took my wife and me a long time to come to terms with the fact that our son's childhood and innocence was ripped away from him. I had blamed myself."

"Why?"

"I felt like a failure as a father for not being able to protect him from … from the world …" Shawn trailed off, lost in the memories.

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault," Mac said gently. "No more than I could protect Harm from being abducted and abused by an insane criminal. We can't predict all the things that could go wrong, nor can we control what other people do."

"I have the feeling Commander Rabb and my son have more in common than you could possibly imagine. However, you already have a lot on your plate to deal with. Are you sure you want to hear the whole story?"

Mac glanced briefly at the somber Lieutenant Commander. "For Harm's sake, if you think it might help me to hear it, then I think I can handle it."

"All right then, Colonel," Barnes conceded. He gazed out of the window at the scenery going by. "We were a good Catholic family; you might even say devout. My wife and I had always been very active in our church and the kids were involved with various youth programs and such. Patrick was such a great, outgoing kid. We all had considered it an honor that he was chosen to be an altar boy. It wasn't long after that, right after he turned nine years old in fact, that he …" Shawn's voice faltered then, as his breath caught and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "That his innocence was betrayed by someone in a position of authority, by someone he trusted, someone we should have been able to trust …"

"Oh, no," Mac gasped with alarm. Fortunately, she had just stopped the car at a red traffic light and she stared at the serious face of her colleague. "Are you saying - ?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am," Shawn said, avoiding her eyes by keeping his gaze straight ahead. "My son was sexually molested by our priest."

The silence was deafening.

"Uh, ma'am, the light is green."

Mac startled into action and proceeded through the intersection. "I'm so sorry your little boy had to go through something so truly horrible. I don't know what else to say."

"That's all right, Colonel. With a lot of help, my son has moved from the victim stage to the survivor stage, and I still maintain hope that, someday, he will even thrive again."

It was silent in the car for the remainder of the trip, each contemplating what the other had said.

"Well, we're almost there," Mac said as they approached the JAG Headquarters parking lot. "I can't thank you enough for taking the time away from your family to bring the Commander's SUV home for me."

"It was my privilege to be entrusted to assist you, Colonel MacKenzie," Barnes said gallantly. As Mac pulled up alongside of his car, he turned slightly in his seat to face her.  
"Permission to ask you a question, ma'am."

"Can't promise an answer, but you may ask," Mac responded with a small smirk.

"Fair enough. Commander Rabb wasn't just held prisoner and beaten up, was he?"

Mac jerked her head back, eyes wide. "Why … why would you ask that?"

"Sorry, it's just that after what we all witnessed today, along with his other symptoms and reactions that I've observed, it seems to me that the trauma of his captivity went far beyond physical abuse."

"Lieutenant Roberts tried to fill me in, but he wasn't making much sense. I just thought it was because he was so upset. Apparently, I missed the worst of it, huh."

"It was … um … really bad, ma'am. This guy that Commander Rabb is afraid of must have royally messed with his head. I started to wonder if he had been diagnosed with Stockholm syndrome."

"Not that I know of. But then, no one has told me much of anything either, and Harm is certainly not talking. Damn." Mac sounded frustrated.

"Colonel, forgive me for being blunt," Barnes paused and took a deep breath. "But, do you think he was raped?"

Shaken by the question, Mac took several moments to collect her thoughts and try to come up with a viable answer. She had none. "I – I don't know. It has crossed my mind. I have my suspicions, but I can't be sure. There is so much I don't know. I mean, even if I was to come right out and ask him, he'd never tell me; he would most certainly deny it."

"Do you know for sure he'd deny it if confronted directly? What if he just can't say the words and is waiting for you to say it for him?"

Mac sagged visibly, as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders, her eyes large and sad. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I've been avoiding any heavy discussions because I don't want to upset him."

"There is that," Shawn mused.

"Anyway, it's too soon; he's not ready. I'll think about it when he's stronger," Mac said with determination. "Now, I've kept you late enough, Commander. Go home to your family, and thanks again."

"You're welcome, Colonel," Barnes said, as he opened the door of the very low car and hauled himself out. He leaned back down for a moment and gave Mac a kind, sympathetic smile. "And you get home safely and take good care of Commander Rabb, ma'am."

"I will," Mac said, returning a smile of her own. She waited until the Lieutenant Commander got into his car and waved to her. Then, she pulled out of the parking lot and drove off.

***

The following day found Mac preoccupied, hoping that Harm had made it to his appointment with Dr. Parnell. Harm had been completely withdrawn the previous evening, his silence broken only by his admission that he didn't know if he could face going back to JAG after what had happened. Although he would have to force himself to go to Bethesda, he was relieved for the one-day reprieve from those who had witnessed his unfortunate meltdown. Mac couldn't help but wonder if that subject would be addressed in Harm's session today.

Meanwhile, Admiral Chegwidden was also preoccupied. It took some digging through the personnel records, but he had managed to refresh his memory on the history of Lieutenant Commander Barnes. Other than a difficult patch during his assignment with JAG San Diego, he had a spotless, exemplary record. Chegwidden found that the one period of time of less than perfect FITREPS was because of a lack of focus due to family problems. Further examination of notes revealed the reasons in some detail. The JAG officer had been involved in a very personal civilian court case where the victim of sexual abuse was his own son. Barnes had been relentless in attempting to bring the perpetrator, a Catholic priest, to justice. However, the young boy had been too traumatized to testify. Due to lack of evidence, the accused was acquitted in a court of law. The Admiral's heart went out to the boy for having suffered such a heinous act and to the entire family for the unfairness and the difficulties that followed. The emotionally disturbed child had been under psychiatric care ever since, as well as the ongoing family counseling that Barnes had mentioned the previous day.

This information troubled Chegwidden, making him painfully aware of the comparisons to Rabb's ordeal. For one thing, would Rabb eventually get better? If so, how long might it take? Perhaps, he would be permanently messed up, unable to move forward to some semblance of a normal life. Not only that, Chegwidden also wondered if Rabb's perpetrator would ever be found and brought to justice. There was a distinct possibility that the criminally insane man would get away with his crime, much like that priest had. The Admiral snorted with disgust to think of either one of those perverts as being scot-free to go on with their lives somewhere else and possibly hurting other innocent victims. Pushing the files aside, he removed his reading glasses to rub at his eyes, his headache pounding. It had been a long, tough couple of days and he hated situations that he was unable to do anything about.

Mac was late, getting home to the loft well after dark; it had been a long, tiring day for her, as well. When she unlocked the door leading into the living room area, she found Harm passed out on the couch. He did not stir upon her arrival. As always, the lights were on. Harm had the habit of turning them on early, as he hated waking up to darkness. She put her things away and wandered into the kitchen, where it appeared that nothing had been started for dinner.

'That appointment must have really wrung him out,' she thought to herself, as she looked over at him, sprawled and sleeping soundly. She was loath to wake him, since it was so seldom that he actually got a decent stretch of sleep, and decided to let him be.

Mac was hungry, however, and as soon as she changed out of her uniform, she would scrounge around for something to eat. When she came back from the bedroom, freshened up and comfortable, Harm still hadn't moved. After quietly poking around in the kitchen, she decided that she didn't feel like preparing anything, and also did not want to wake him with the noise of doing so. Disappearing back into the den, she made a call to have a pizza delivered.

Thirty-eight minutes later, a knock came at the door. Mac quickly checked to see that it was the delivery person and had her money ready. Once the door closed, she turned to find Harm watching her with bleary eyes.

"Hey, sorry if I woke you, but I've got pizza. You hungry?" Mac held the box up in front of her for emphasis.

"Wha'timeisit?" Harm mumbled, looking around, then rubbing his face with both hands.

"Just after seven," replied Mac. She took the box over to the kitchen counter and took out a couple of plates, while carefully observing Harm. "So, how long have you been asleep?"

"I dunno." Short and abrupt, his answer offered no embellishment.

Harm still seemed to be detached and foggy, when he suddenly got up and headed towards the bathroom. Mac watched as he made his way a little bit unsteadily, assuming he must have taken some medication upon his return home. Having received no answer as to whether or not Harm wanted some pizza, Mac put a slice on her own plate, leaving the other plate on the counter, and took hers with her to the living room. It was then that she noticed a short, empty glass, as she set her plate on the end table. Picking up the glass to take it to the sink, she smelled a familiar scent, and sniffed it more closely. Alcohol. There was no mistaking the odor of liquor, especially to a recovering alcoholic.

Stunned, Mac quickly rinsed the glass out and set it on the counter, deliberately next to the empty plate. As she turned, Harm reentered the living room. She had no idea how to confront him, or even what to say to him, simply watching as he slowly walked back to the sofa. He noticed the pizza on the table where his glass had been and raised his eyes to see Mac standing at the counter.

"You should eat something. I got half veggie," Mac suggested.

"Not hungry … maybe later," Harm said with a pained look on his face. He flopped back down onto the couch and leaned his head back against the cushion. "Feel like crap."

Mac walked over to stand in front of him, retrieving her plate. "Got a headache?"

"Yeah," Harm nodded.

Mac sat in a nearby chair and took a bite of her slice while it was still somewhat warm. Harm avoided her gaze and stared off into space, studiously ignoring her while she ate in silence. Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer.

"You know, you really shouldn't be mixing alcohol with the drugs you take," Mac said calmly, carefully keeping any accusatory tone out of her voice. "I didn't think there was any booze in this place."

Harm shot a glance at her, then shrugged, not even trying to deny that he had indeed been drinking. Finally, he spoke. "I stopped and bought some on the way home. After the day I've had, I think I'm entitled to an occasional splurge. I just wanted to feel numb and oblivious for a little while."

"And did it help?"

Harm refused to answer the pointed question. He had drunk until the pint of bourbon was empty and then he had passed out, escaping the intrusive thoughts and memories for a short while. However, now that he was awake, it was all still there in his head, always with him.

"Any left?"

"No," Harm replied sullenly, rubbing his forehead again.

Mac wasn't sure whether Harm was feeling the effects of a hangover or still inebriated, but she decided to let that question pass.

"Did you have a rough session with Dr. Parnell?" Mac asked softly, as she placed her now empty plate back on the table. She had wanted to go get a second slice of pizza, but it could wait. When Harm nodded and began speaking, she gave him her undivided attention.

"The worst," he answered suddenly.

"What happened? Can you tell me?" Mac's voice was filled with nothing but honest concern.

With a sigh, Harm dropped his chin to his chest and kept his eyes down. "We discussed my very public panic attack at JAG, about which I'm still upset and humiliated, as well as the fact that I can't seem to remember all the details of the flashback, like how I ended up on the floor. God, I really don't want to go to work tomorrow and I told him that. Until yesterday, I thought I was starting to manage my emotions, keeping everything under control. I just need to feel some control, you know?

"But now, because of this incident, that's definitely not true. In fact, Parnell considered it a 'setback' and he has upped the dose on the Paxil." Harm paused, letting out a long sigh. "As long as I'm on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds, I've got absolutely no chance of regaining my flight status. Hell, I might as well kiss it goodbye for good. At this point, who knows if I'll ever even return to full-duty."

Harm was on a roll now, and Mac wisely chose not to interrupt.

"Then, as if that wasn't enough," he continued, "He started pushing me to talk about … the trauma. He said that as long as I'm unable to process the memories, to start dealing with what happened, I wouldn't be able to fully heal."

Waiting a few beats to make sure Harm was finished, Mac tried to think of something reassuring to say. "I'm sure he knows what's best, Harm. Just give it a chance."

Harm glanced briefly over at her then. At that moment, she saw tears glistening in his eyes. He couldn't look any more dejected or miserable. She wanted so much to be able to offer comfort, to hold him and tell him everything would be all right, but was uncertain how he would receive it.

"I can't talk about it, not to anybody. I can't," he said, shaking his head. "As long as that sicko is out there, we're not safe; I'll never *feel* safe. I was warned not to tell and I'm afraid of the consequences if I do. But, Parnell thinks I'm using that as an excuse not to discuss any details. Maybe he's right."

Mac shrugged. "Maybe it is a factor, but maybe you're just not ready yet. After all, you experienced a horribly traumatic ordeal that not everyone would have survived. I can't imagine how difficult it would be to share that with anyone. I just wish I knew what to do to help you through this."

"Mac, your support and understanding mean the world to me," Harm said, giving her a small, sad smile. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and looked back down at the floor. "But there are some things so terrible that I'll never be able to talk about them with anyone, not Parnell, and especially not you."

"Why me especially? Are you saying that because you think I can't handle knowing the truth?"

"No, that's not what I meant," Harm said quickly. "I – I'm just trying to protect you, to spare you the sordid details."

"Oh, Harm, it's the not knowing that's so much worse. I don't need details to see some of the damage you've obviously suffered, but I know so little about what happened to you during those seven weeks that all I can do is let my mind fill in the blanks. I also happen to believe that Webb and the Admiral know a lot more than I do, that I have been left out of the loop from the beginning. Trust me, it has not been easy being left in the dark, with few facts and only your imagination to go on."

Harm tensed up and gave Mac a dangerous, sober look. When he spoke, his voice was low and intense. "Whatever you may think or try to imagine, it can't possibly come close to what I suffered, not even a fraction."

"Then help me understand, Harm," Mac said resolutely. "All I'm asking for is a small fraction here, just a general idea. I believe it will help more than hurt either one of us."

"What more do you need to know?" Harm's voice went cold. "I was drugged and grabbed out of a bar by two goons. I woke up in a cold, dank dungeon, hanging in manacles, immobilized. A psychopath, who enjoyed inflicting pain and humiliating me for apparently no other reason than his entertainment, kept me as his captive. His goal was to break me, I never understood for what purpose, and he succeeded. I was systematically brainwashed, beaten, tortured, and … and …"

Harm trailed off, unable to continue. By this time, his voice quivered and he began trembling all over.

"And … raped?"

Harm's head shot up in shock at Mac's question. She saw a look of utter horror in wide, panic stricken eyes.

"Why would you say … How do you … Oh-god!" Harm wailed, shaking. He bolted to his feet, fists clenched at his sides, and backed away from Mac. Fear and shame emanated from his body as his face turned ashen. "Who – who told you that?"

"Nobody," Mac stated firmly. She had her answer. Harm's violent reaction confirmed her suspicions. He was too caught by surprise to come up with any type of denial. "I swear, Harm, no one told me anything. I merely speculated."

Harm tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled, choked off sound, as the bile began to rise to his throat. He turned abruptly and staggered to the kitchen, knowing it was too far to make it to the bathroom. Gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, he bent over and retched into the sink.

Mac jumped to her feet and followed. She turned on the tap to let the water run while she rubbed circles on his back. Listening to him gagging and heaving repeatedly as he leaned on the counter for support, she kept rubbing and murmuring, "I'm sorry. It'll get better. I'm so very sorry. Please, be okay. I'm sorry."

The next minute felt like an eternity, with Harm retching until he had nothing left to vomit up and his stomach muscles finally stopped their painful, spasmodic contractions. Still bent over, he splashed cold water on his face. Then, gulping a mouthful, he swished and spit it back out and repeated the action several times. Mac silently handed him some spring water from the fridge and he took a few sips and managed to keep it down.

All strength had abandoned his body, however, and he slowly slid down the cabinet until he was sitting hunched over on the floor. Mac could see his shoulders shaking and she sank down to the floor as well, gathering him into her arms.

"Why? … Why?" Harm kept repeating, his voice broken and muffled from burying his face into her neck.

That was a question for which Mac had no answer. All she could do was hold him tightly and make small, soothing, shushing sounds as she rocked him gently. She could feel the wetness of his tears on her skin, but he made no sound other than the hitching catch in his breath.

"It's okay, let it out," she said, stroking up and down his back with her hands. "You have every right to feel angry, frustrated, scared. It's all right to let it all out. I've got you."

Mac could feel the moment when Harm gave up the fight to hang onto the last vestiges of control. He slumped against her, as his body released all tension, and he moaned against her shoulder. Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed her to him and held on. Rasping sobs gave way quickly to quiet whimpers and Mac found herself crying, too. Rocking together, they squeezed and held each other for several minutes until all was quiet.

"Um, Harm?" Mac whispered.

Harm lifted his head, and Mac took in the sorrowful, beaten puppy expression in his eyes.

"I kind of need to breathe here," she smiled.

"Oh. Sorry," Harm said, realizing how tight his hold was on her, and pulled back. His breathing was still a little ragged.

"No, it's all right." Mac's eyes were watery, too.

They merely stared at each other for a moment. Then, Harm impulsively reached up and cupped Mac's cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss with his lips to the spot where the tear had been. Mac closed her eyes with a sigh and Harm repeated the gesture, pressing his lips to her other cheek.

Mac sniffled and the spell was broken.

"I'm sorry," Harm said solemnly. "I don't know how you put up with me. I feel like a useless wreck most of the time and I don't deserve you."

"Oh, Harm, it's okay to lean on me. I love you and I hope you realize you can tell me anything. I'll always be here for you."

"I know. I trust you, Mac. I'm pretty screwed up, though, so I can't promise that the future will be anything but a difficult road ahead of us." Harm managed to hold Mac's intent gaze and grasped her hand between his.

"We'll handle it together," Mac emphatically assured him. "Now, what do you say we get off this cold, hard floor?" She stood gracefully and held her hand out to him.

Harm got up slowly with a groan, holding onto Mac's hand for assistance. He looked a little unsteady on his feet and more than a bit sheepish. Upon letting go of Mac's hand, he rested his hip against the counter and rubbed at his eyes.

"I think I'd like to take a shower."

Mac studied him for a moment, wondering if he actually had enough balance to stay on his feet for that long. "I have a better idea. Why don't I start a hot bath for you so you can relax with a nice, long soak?"

"That sounds good. Sorry, but I'm afraid I'm still a bit too queasy to eat," Harm admitted, glancing at the pizza box. He felt like he was apologizing for something every few minutes.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just put it in the fridge and it will keep until later or whenever you feel like trying some. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll be back," Mac smiled, heading off to the other end of the loft.

After she left, Harm got another drink of water and decided to make himself useful, so he wrapped up the pizza and put it away. While he waited for Mac to return, he could hear the water running in the tub of the large bathroom that connected to their bedroom. At first, he had considered it mainly her private domain and continued to use his original facilities. Gradually, however, as they became closer and more comfortable, she had convinced him to share the space with her, due to its convenient location and amenities. This left the smaller bathroom relegated to occasional use and was kept ready for any guests they might have.

Within a few minutes, Mac reappeared. "Come on, prepare to be spoiled," she smiled.

Harm followed meekly. At the bathroom door, she stopped. "I'll check on you in a few minutes. Enjoy yourself." With that, she opened the door and ushered Harm inside.

The warm room was dim, the only lighting coming from numerous aromatherapy candles. Thick, scented pillars lined the vanity and were grouped in each corner around the large, deep tub, their tiny flames flickering and making the soft lights dance across the ceiling and around the wonderfully aromatic room.

Harm heard soothing music playing. Mac had gone through his growing collection of compact discs and picked out one that he had recently acquired to put in the small player she had set up on a shelf. He recognized it as Eternity's Sunrise by Bill Douglas, something he had picked up just to try out.

Steam wafted from the full tub and the surface of the water was covered with a layer of bubbles. Nearby, the towel warmer held big, fluffy towels, and his robe was draped over the top.

"Wow," Harm said in awe, a smile breaking out in spite of himself. "You've thought of everything."

Mac smiled back. "I put a little foaming bath oil in the water, so I suggest you don't turn the Jacuzzi on or there'll be bubbles everywhere." She winked and walked out, closing the door behind her to give him his privacy.

Harm chuckled softly as he hurried over to the sink. The first thing he did was quickly brush his teeth and gargle to rid his mouth of the lingering aftertaste of his earlier recklessness. Then, he stripped swiftly out of his clothes and threw them in the hamper. Gingerly, he stepped into the tub. The water was good and hot and, holding onto the sides for balance, he slowly and carefully eased his tired body down until he was sitting submerged nearly to his shoulders. When he finally leaned back to rest his head, the water came up to his neck.

For several minutes, Harm simply lay quietly with his eyes closed, his body unwinding, muscles relaxing in the heat of the water, as he listened to the comforting and peaceful music. The tracks were a delightful mixture between ethereal instrumental pieces and those of a mixed choir with pure, angelic voices.

Back in the kitchen, Mac had to smile upon discovering that Harm had already cleaned up. She was hungry and snagged another slice of pizza from the fridge. As she munched, she contemplated what had transpired earlier. While she could certainly understand Harm's motivations to try and escape in a bottle of booze, it had been a dangerous thing to do, a temporary fix that would have solved nothing in the long run. She hoped he realized that. On the other hand, the end result of his indiscretion had led to an important step forward. With his drop in inhibitions making him vulnerable, he had unexpectedly opened up and shared with her a devastatingly difficult secret. Despite the cost to Harm's state of mind, Mac felt that, overall, progress had been made. Wondering if he would ever truly get past his shame, his fears, and all of the hurts he had suffered, she firmly resolved to do everything she could to help ease the way towards his healing.

Deep in his own thoughts, Harm had lost track of time, and never noticed that the water was cooling down until a soft knock at the door brought him out of his reverie.

"Harm? May I come in?" Mac's voice sounded muffled on the other side of the door.

Harm sat up suddenly and covered his groin with a washcloth, holding it in place to avoid the chance that it could float away.

"Uh … Okay."

Mac stuck her head around the door and peeked in. "You still in there?" she grinned.

"Well, I do seem to have run out of bubbles … and hot water," Harm said sheepishly with a shy smile. He sat huddled in the center of the tub with his knees drawn up

Mac walked casually into the steamy room, wearing a long, silky robe in shades of silver and gold and held closed with a satin sash at the waist. As she moved, Harm could catch glimpses of her bare legs under the front edges of the robe that fluttered open with each step, and he was struck with the thought of what, if anything, she was wearing underneath.

Mac was not overly modest around him. In fact, they had become comfortable together to the point where he had seen her in various stages of undress; anything from an oversized night shirt to a slinky, thin-strapped nightgown to just a towel as she came out of the shower. On occasion, she had nonchalantly changed clothes while conversing with him in the bedroom, wearing nothing more than a bra and bikini panties in front of him.

Harm, on the other hand, had always been surprisingly old-fashioned. Even though he always found himself in awe of Mac's beauty, he would never leer at her, instead politely averting his eyes.

Ever since his abduction, Harm had become quite self-conscious regarding his own body. He felt uncomfortable letting Mac see him naked and, in a moment of anxiety, he wondered if she wanted to join him in the tub. Under different circumstances, he would have invited her.

"I have this great new lotion," Mac said, holding up a bottle. "I thought maybe I could give you a back rub."

"Here? Now?" Harm almost squeaked. Mac wondered if his face was flushed from the heat of the bath or his modesty.

"Sure. Why don't you add some hot water and turn on the jets? That'll stir up some foam in no time. Turn your back to me and I'll just sit on the edge here and massage the lotion in."

Harm followed her instructions. Sitting against the front of the tub, he faced the back wall while the water churned. The noise from the Jacuzzi motor drowned out the music, but he caught a glimpse of movement from the side and saw Mac's robe tossed to the side. He dared not turn his head, keeping his eyes forward, not wanting to know.

"Don't be nervous, " said Mac. "I just don't want it to get wet. Now relax." She sat behind him on the marble tile surrounding the tub, warmed some lotion between her hands and went to work. Starting with the back of his neck and shoulders, Mac proceeded to give Harm a soothing massage.

Harm marveled at how soft her hands were, and yet so strong. The hands that were gently kneading his muscles and rubbing lotion into his skin were the same hands that could expertly handle an M-16 rifle.

"M-m-m-m, that feels s-o-o good," he said, letting his head fall forward. "If I stay in here much longer, I'll fall asleep and drown."

"Lean forward a little," Mac said, as she worked her way down his back.

Harm complied, although not altogether comfortable. He still had difficulty with allowing Mac to see any of his scars. "How do they look?"

"What?"

"My scars," Harm stated.

"Better. Your back is doing fine, Harm. The lines are fading, hardly noticeable." Mac continued her ministrations.

"Okay. Good … Ah … I'm sorry about the drinking earlier. That was really stupid of me. I won't make a habit of it," Harm said contritely. He still felt bad about his foolish lack of judgment and the resulting emotional display.

"I don't want you to fret about that. It's over. The important thing is how you are feeling now. Better?"

"Yeah … Yeah, I think so." Harm tipped his head back to look up into Mac's face. "Thank you."

"What for?" Mac grinned.

"For taking such good care of me. I love you, Mac."

"I love you, too." Mac started giggling.

"What's so funny?" Harm turned slightly to get a better look and discovered Mac was wearing only a thin, white camisole top and a string bikini panty.

"Harm, I think we should turn off the Jacuzzi," she laughed.

Harm looked all around him and realized the suds from the bath oil had gotten completely out of control. The mounds of bubbles covered the tub surround, nearly extinguishing the candles and growing higher by the second. Harm was so buried in the stuff that only his head was sticking out, which made Mac laugh even more. He finally managed to find the control and shut it off, as well as the faucet.

Mac's fit of giggles was contagious. Chuckling, Harm scooped up a handful of foam and blew it towards her. Mac laughed and ducked, but a blob landed right between her breasts. She instantly scooped two handfuls and plopped them on top of Harm's head. The situation quickly deteriorated to an all out messy war, both of them flinging suds and water at each other amidst peals of laughter. Mac shrieked with mirth at Harm's silly grin and the suds covering his face like Santa's beard. Mac ended up wearing her fair share of foam, which amused Harm no end. Water and bubbles dripped from her hair and her soaked top was plastered to her body, leaving little to Harm's imagination. Once again, he was struck by how beautiful she was, her damp skin glistening in the softly glowing candlelight, and he stopped laughing.

"Mac," Harm said, gazing at her with love, his voice low and husky.

Mac shuddered, not sure whether it was due to a chill or the way Harm said her name.

"I … ah … should get out now," Harm said shyly.

"Don't you want me to finish your massage?"

"Nah, I'm fine. In fact, I'm feeling pretty good," he smiled. "Thanks to you." Harm heard the music pause as one track finished and the next one was about to start.

Mac grabbed two towels off of the rack and handed one to Harm, covering herself with the other one. "I guess I should go get into something dry."

She turned away and Harm stood up, wrapping his towel around his waist and tucking in the end. He stepped out of the tub and down to the floor, reaching for Mac's hand.

"Wait. Don't go just yet. This is the last song and it's my favorite one on this album."

"All right."

Harm picked up another towel to drape it over Mac's shoulders; then he slid his large hands across her back, pulling her into his arms. She cuddled against him, feeling his warmth and his heartbeat. Locked in their embrace, they listened to the words and swayed gently to the peaceful music.

Harm couldn't remember when he had ever felt so content as he did at that moment.

*Deep peace  
of the running wave to you  
Deep peace  
of the flowing air to you  
Deep peace  
of the quiet earth to you  
Deep peace  
of the shining stars to you  
Deep peace  
of the gentle night to you  
Moon and stars  
pour their healing light on you  
Deep peace to you*

 

***


	7. THERAPY:  LIVING WITH PTSD (Ch.5b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 5th Chapter continues. (Part b)

***

Though it was far from easy, Harm was bound and determined to return to work and carry on as though everything was normal. He had been trying to learn everything he could about Post Traumatic Stress, with the hope that the more he understood his symptoms and reactions, and the reasons for them, the better he might be able to handle them. However, in his mind, that meant controlling them more than actually dealing with the emotions they provoked.

One of the typical aspects of this anxiety disorder that manifested in Harm was hypervigilance. He was nearly always on alert, feeling wary, suspicious, or vulnerable. Even in a safe place, he rarely felt calm, anticipating disaster, and he would catch himself scanning his surroundings or looking over his shoulder. To the average person, this could be interpreted as paranoia. Indeed, Harm sometimes began to feel he was just being paranoid, yet he was unable to help himself. Whether real or imagined, he had the feeling that the personnel at JAG, including the Admiral, were walking on eggshells around him. His anxiety attacks had caused him so much embarrassment. Not only that, but other intrusive thoughts and memories continued to bother him, as well. Harm was especially troubled by the recent and startling revelation of the extent of Mac's knowledge. Mac *knew*. He was afraid that if she had been able to figure out what had happened to him, others would, too. He wasn't prepared to deal with the shame of that. It was bad enough that, in addition to his physicians at the Medical Center, Chegwidden and Webb knew as much as they did.

These and other factors contributing to Harm's ongoing battle with anxiety continued to take their toll on Harm's health, causing not only physical fatigue, but also taxing him emotionally, mentally, and even spiritually.

It was only a few days later when another major setback occurred.

Harm hadn't felt right all morning, his stomach tied up in knots. Thinking it was just gas or hunger pangs, he went to the break room, hoping it would help if he just ate something. After downing a few whole-wheat crackers with peanut butter, he grabbed another cup of coffee and headed back to his desk to continue his research. Within a short while, his discomfort grew steadily worse. When the pain surpassed the feeling he had when he had strained his muscles from doing too many sit-ups, he could no longer ignore it. He got up and paced a bit while rubbing his hand over the center of his upper stomach area, just below the sternum. He had already taken several antacids, but they didn't seem to be helping. Too distracted to work, he wandered out of the library and through the bullpen.

Harm found Mac in her office and leaned on the doorframe.

"You busy?"

"Always, but never too busy for you," Mac answered, looking up with a smile. Noticing Harm's pained expression, she added, "You okay?"

With a small shrug, Harm rubbed his stomach. "I've got this burning, gnawing pain right here that's relentless. It's driving me to such distraction, I can't think straight."

"How long?" Mac was now genuinely concerned. Harm looked pale.

"Been bothering me all morning; getting worse now," he managed to huff, between breaths.

"Maybe you should sit down," Mac offered, as she rose to her feet.

"I'm sure it'll pass." The constant burn had become more intense with each passing minute.

Before Harm could move further into the office, he suddenly doubled over with a low groan, clutching at his stomach. The pain turned into a sharp, stabbing knife that stole his breath away with its ferocity. "Damn!" he gritted out between clenched teeth.

"What can I do?" Mac asked, stepping quickly to Harm's side.

"I don't know, Mac, never felt anything quite like this before." Harm staggered over to her desk and leaned on it heavily, bent over and sweating profusely.

"Come on, sit down. I'll go get help." Mac ran out of the office before Harm could protest. He really didn't want anyone fussing. Surely, the pain would pass if he just stayed very still and took shallow breaths.

Mac addressed the Admiral's yeoman at her desk. "Petty Officer Coates, please inform the Admiral that Commander Rabb has taken ill and then bring some water and paper towels to my office a.s.a.p."

"Right away, ma'am."

Mac turned and hurried back to her office before Coates had a chance to ask any questions. She found Harm sitting hunched over with his forehead resting on her desk, his arms wrapped across his belly.

Coates arrived next with a bottle of cold water and a stack of towels, giving them to the Colonel. Chegwidden had followed her, entering the office to assess the situation.

"Commander, you don't look so good. What's going on?"

"Not feeling so good, sir," Harm groaned, as he lifted his head. "I think it's my stomach."

Mac got Harm to take a sip of water, then she wet a few towels and handed them to him. Harm's short hair was plastered to his head and the perspiration trickled down his face and neck, and he was grateful to be able to wipe his face. Then, his breath caught again as another searing pain ripped through his gut, and he couldn't help the groan that slipped out, or the wave of nausea that made him feel like he was going to keel over.

"You're going to the hospital," the Admiral stated in a tone that tolerated no argument.

Harm nodded, not about to protest this order.

"Sir, should I call an ambulance?" Coates asked.

"Let's avoid that if we can. I'd hate to waste time waiting for it. Commander, can you walk under your own power?"

"Yes, sir."

"Colonel, anything pressing on your schedule?"

"No, sir."

"Very well, then. Take the Commander to Bethesda, to the emergency room. Report to me at regular intervals."

"Right away, sir."

By this time, several concerned people had begun to gather outside of Mac's office. They watched with concerned faces as the two senior officers, led by Chegwidden, made their way through the bullpen. On their way out, Rabb had Coates grab a plastic wastebasket liner for him to take along, just in case he had to surrender to the urge to vomit. He certainly didn't want to mess up Mac's car.

They made it to the emergency room without incident, though by the time they got Harm checked in at the desk, he looked positively gray. While waiting to be seen, he convinced Mac to go back to JAG, as he was most likely going to be there for quite some time. Mac checked in with Chedwidden, who concurred Harm was in good hands and Mac returned to work on the promise that Harm would call as soon as he could find out what the problem was.

Finally, several hours and tests later, Harm was back in the cubicle where he had started, resting on a gurney in a hospital gown. His stomach was feeling somewhat better. After the initial examination, the emergency room doctor had a nurse give him a special cocktail in a paper cup. Harm had drunk the strange tasting, thick, green liquid, and the sharp, burning pain inside eased almost immediately to a dull ache.

He saw someone approach in a white lab coat, carrying a clipboard and realized it was not the same doctor that had examined him earlier and ordered up the various tests. The man stopped at the foot of Harm's bed.

"Hello, Commander Rabb. How are you feeling now?"

"A bit better, Doctor Carrington," Harm pushed himself up onto his elbows. "How did you know I was here?"

"I happened to be on shift this evening. When they pulled your chart and saw that you've been one of my patients, I was notified. Of course, it didn't hurt that Admiral Chegwidden called here to ensure you are being well taken care of," the doctor smiled. "I have your test results right here."

"What's wrong with me?" Harm asked nervously.

"Well, this should not come as much of a surprise under the circumstances, Commander. The diagnosis is peptic ulcer." Harm looked perplexed as he absorbed the news. "Basically, you've got a sore in the upper wall of your stomach trying to eat through your stomach lining." Carrington placed his fingers on Harm's torso and began pressing gently. "It's right about … here."

"Ouch," Harm glared when Carrington's fingers found the right spot.

"Yup, you have all the classic symptoms and the tests confirmed it. Fortunately, it is completely treatable, so try not to worry. In fact, it is important that you avoid stress."

Harm just stared at the doctor as if to say 'yeah, right.'

"I know, easier said than done," Carrington continued. "A lot of people assume that stress and spicy food is the leading cause of ulcers, but the majority is due to the Helicobacter pylori bacteria. What is unusual in your case is that your blood tested negative for H. pylori. Now, I know you've undergone physical traumas and starvation, not to mention the extreme and prolonged stress of your ordeal, but are you still taking pain relievers of either the aspirin, ibuprofen, or naproxen families?"

Harm nodded. "I've been taking Aleve, usually, for headaches and especially my knees."

"I'm afraid you'll have to switch to Tylenol. Also, I'm putting you on some medications to help heal the ulcer and protect your stomach lining. You'll start feeling noticeably better within two weeks. However, you are to stay on the meds for at least two months, maybe three, to completely heal. Let's see how you do. I'm also going to send you home with special instructions, including a bland diet, as certain foods will aggravate an existing ulcer, as does alcohol, smoking, and stress. On that note, I'll be sending a medical order to your C.O. that you are on one full week bed rest. No work, nothing but complete rest, at home, and a follow up appointment with me in seven days. Make sure you do not go too long without food; that makes the pain worse. Eat something every three hours, whether or not you feel hungry. Once you've had peptic ulcers, there's a fifty per cent chance of reoccurrence within two years. You can avoid that by being careful and following instructions. Any questions?"

"I don't have to stay overnight?"

"No, Commander, you are cleared to go home," Carrington smiled. "Not to alarm you, but on the very small chance you should experience severe pain and vomiting, or if the vomit contains blood, you get yourself to the nearest hospital immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may go ahead and get dressed. Give me a few minutes to write up the prescriptions and orders and then someone will come get you to check out at the discharge desk. Take care of yourself, Commander Rabb."

"Thank you, Doctor Carrington."

As soon as Harm walked out of the hospital, he turned on his cell phone and found several messages from Mac. He was about to call a taxicab to take him home when his phone rang.

"Rabb."

~"Harm? What's happening? I've been trying to reach you."~

"Sorry, Mac. My phone was off. I was just discharged and about to call a cab."

~"Don't do that. I'm on my way back over there. When I couldn't get the E.R. to give me any information over the phone, I left JAG. Are you okay?"~

"Yeah, I'll live. I just want to go home; I'm beat. Guess I better call the Admiral, though, and fill him in."

~"I'll be there in a few minutes. Where are you?"~

"In front of the E.R. entrance."

~"Wait for me there and I'll see you shortly. You can tell me all about it."~

"Mac?"

~"Yes?"~

"Thanks," Harm said softly, before breaking the connection.

Mac sighed with relief. Harm sounded worn out, but all right.

***

Four days later, Harm completely understood why he had been given medical orders to stay home and rest. He had been excused from all appointments at the Medical Center for one week and he honestly didn't mind his confinement to the loft. Lingering aching and twinges in his stomach kept him feeling lousy physically, but he also felt weak and lethargic. The very restrictive, bland diet didn't help his energy much either, and he found that the only food he could even tolerate for the time being was a pretty short list; chicken broth, plain rice, baby food, and the occasional milk shake.

Harm made sure to take his Prilosec every morning, as prescribed to heal his ulcer, and he spent a lot of his time sleeping, or at least dozing and drifting. Since he couldn't concentrate on anything anyway, it should have been a relief for him not to have any responsibilities or have to go anywhere.

In reality, Harm simply felt more useless than ever. Trying to rationalize his depressed mood as being caused by the fact that he didn't feel well didn't seem to help. There were times that Harm wondered if the anti-depressant he'd been taking was even helping at all.

It was small comfort that Mac was so busy with a case that she had hardly been around to witness the funk he had slid into. She had been putting in really long hours the past few days and Harm had seen very little of her. Mac had not discussed any details of this mystery case with Harm and hadn't even mentioned work since he came home from the emergency room.

It didn't take long for Harm to convince himself that Mac was just trying to spare him any stress whatsoever, as though he wasn't capable of hearing about her day or talking with her about difficult cases. They had always shared opinions on legal matters and valued each other's input.

Yesterday, she had managed to call him only once to briefly check on him. He had not yet heard from her today.

Mac had gotten home so late last night that Harm had already gone to bed. Harm planned to wait up for her tonight. When Mac still wasn't home at eleven o'clock, Harm fell asleep on the couch.

A noise suddenly roused him, causing him to sit up quickly. Disoriented, he tried to focus his eyes on the front door, seeing not one, but two figures standing in front of it.

"Mac? Webb?" Harm stared at them blankly, wondering what Webb was doing here in the middle of the night. He looked at his wrist, then remembered he had taken off his watch earlier. "What time is it?"

"It's after midnight," Webb answered. "Sorry to disturb you, Rabb. Just making sure Mac got home all right."

Mac hadn't said a word. Harm watched them more closely; they both appeared disheveled. Then, Clay helped Mac out of her coat and Harm saw that the sleeve of her blouse was ripped at the shoulder.

"Good-god, what the hell happened?" Harm jumped to his feet and was across the floor in front of her in an instant. In spite of the dimly lit room, he could see a bruise on her cheek, once he got up close to her. "Mac, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Harm. Nothing to worry about," Mac tried to sound reassuring, but her voice wavered slightly. "Things just got a bit intense."

"What things?" Harm asked, voice raising.

"Calm down, Rabb," Webb interjected. "The mission was successful. Sadik Fahd is dead; one less terrorist in the world."

"What?" Rabb was incredulous. "What mission?" He stared accusingly at Webb, noticing a large bruise discoloring the CIA agent's jaw. "You pulled Mac in on another one of your undercover 'ops', didn't you?"

Not waiting for Webb to confirm or deny, Harm turned back to Mac. "Are you hurt?" he asked, as he cupped her face in his large hands, careful not to touch the bruised cheekbone.

"Nah, just a little sore. I'm all right, really." Mac leaned into him, however, and Harm could feel a shiver run through her.

"I can't believe you got involved with another dangerous mission and didn't tell me anything," Harm said in a slightly quieter and tightly controlled voice. He led her over to the sofa. "Sit. Tell me everything."

"Can't. It's classified," said Webb, with a shrug. "Besides, it's over. The good guys won and I better go." He headed for the door and looked back briefly. "Thank you for your help, Sarah. The Agency owes you a debt of gratitude and I couldn't have done it without you. You kicked butt out there."

Mac gave Clay a slight nod and he departed quickly, before Rabb could protest any further.

Harm looked at Mac with deep concern. "Why, Mac?"

"Why, what?" she responded demurely.

Harm huffed with annoyance, his jaw tight with tension. "Why would you let Webb use you again after what happened in Paraguay? Why would you put yourself in danger like that? Last, but not least, why did you keep it from me? Don't I have the right to know? You could have been killed!"

Mac's chin tipped up defiantly. "Look, all I can tell you is it was a necessary mission. Intel revealed that Sadik was in DC and up to no good. He needed to be taken down. I was just doing my job as a Marine, Harm." She neglected to mention that the plan had required her to be used as bait, or the fact that Sadik had attacked her and she was fighting him off when Webb came to her rescue.

"And I didn't have a clue. Here I was, thinking you were just working a tough investigation for a case the past few days. Obviously, I was mistaken." Harm looked her over once again, searching for other signs of violence.

"How did this happen?" Harm asked, pointing to Mac's cheek and torn sleeve.

Mac decided to downplay the hand-to-hand combat with the terrorist. "Sadik and I got into a little bit of a scuffle. I got away, just as Webb arrived. Sadik decked Webb, then pulled a gun, so I shot him in the arm, but he wouldn't stay down. He brought his weapon up, aiming right at Webb. Webb and I both fired two shots. At this point, we don't know which one of us fired the kill shot. Unfortunately, the CIA would have preferred to take him alive to extract the information they needed." Mac shrugged and released a deep sigh. By the time she finished her explanation, Harm's eyes had gotten bigger and bigger.

"You had no choice. He would have killed you both if he could." Harm shuddered to think about what might have happened and tried to calm down. "Jesus, Mac, I don't know what I would do if I lost you." He pulled her to him, enveloping her within his arms.

Mac winced silently, feeling quite sore, knowing she was sporting some spectacular bruising that Harm had yet to know about.

"You know, I'm still not happy about the fact that you hid this entire mission from me," Harm said softly, as he stroked his cheek against her hair.

Mac stiffened and tipped her head back to look up into his eyes. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Harm, but the reason I didn't mention anything is because I knew you'd be worried sick and I didn't want you to worry."

"I kind of figured that out," Harm said forlornly. "If it wasn't for … my condition, I could have helped, been part of the loop, instead of sitting here, feeling left out and useless." As soon as he said the words, he realized how self-pitying he must have sounded.

Mac pulled herself out of Harm's embrace and turned to face him. "You are *not* useless. *Your* job is to take care of yourself and get better, even if that's a full time job right now, and that's okay. I understand that you worry about me. Well, I worry about you too, you know. Knowing that you are home, safe and sound, makes it easier for me to concentrate and do *my* job."

Harm absorbed what Mac said. "Are you saying that I distract you at work?"

"No-o-o, that's not what I meant."

"Huh. Okay." Harm did not sound very convinced, but let the subject drop.

"It's really late and I'm beat," Mac stated with a yawn, rising slowly to her feet. "I need a hot bath before I turn in, though." She was already beginning to feel stiff and achy as she headed off to the bathroom.

Harm checked the door locks, set the alarm, and turned off the lights on his way to the bedroom. Hearing the bath water running, he took care of his business in the other bathroom. He then turned on a small nightlight and climbed into bed to wait for Mac.

As Harm lay in the semidarkness, he thought about what Mac had said, which led him to contemplate his struggles of the past couple of months. All he knew for sure was that he was tired, so very tired, and he found himself pondering the possibility that he might never feel fully functional, confident, or capable of regaining his career, at least not to the level prior to The Trauma. Harm began to wonder if it would be easier on both of them if he no longer worked at JAG. Maybe life would be easier if he just quit the Navy entirely.

Harm wasn't quite ready to surrender to the pressures he felt, to give up yet. However, the idea was filed away in the back of his mind – for now.

***

Early one morning, before daybreak, Harm was finally sleeping soundly after waking several times throughout the night from his usual routine of disturbing dreams. The nightmares varied, but most of them still relived several of the many different moments and scenes of Harm's time spent at the hands of his abductor. Each time they occurred, he would suddenly wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes gasping for air. Though the frequency of the bad dreams hadn't decreased much, the severity of Harm's reactions seemed to be lessening. At times, he wondered if he was actually getting used to the interruptions of his sleep cycle, perhaps learning to control his responses from the sheer repetitiveness of the nightly routine.

This time, the dream was different. Strange and out of focus, Harm wasn't sure where he was, only the sense that he was with someone. Gradually, the person became clearer to him. It was Mac and she was kissing and caressing him. Their bodies became entwined as the dream progressed to an intimate and erotic encounter. They were making love and Harm, aroused and hard, was on the verge of entering her. He eased into Mac's moist, velvet heat, losing himself in the exquisite sensation. Just as Harm began to thrust in earnest, he abruptly woke up.

Eyes snapping open, Harm moved instantly from the sensual dream into full wakefulness. Aware that it was still dark out, he waited for his eyes to adjust, shaken from the intensity and nature of his dream. Suddenly, he froze, not even daring to breathe, as he became aware of something else. He was semi-erect. Stunned, he realized he had been wrapped around a curled up Mac, his front flush against her back. He discovered his aroused cock was nestled between her buttocks and wondered in horror if he had been rubbing or thrusting against her in his sleep as he dreamt. Trying not to panic, he checked to make sure Mac was still asleep. She seemed oblivious, so he very slowly and carefully backed away. Knowing he would be mortified to have her awaken and find him like this, he very quietly got out of bed and retreated to the bathroom to decide what, if anything, he should do about his hard-on. By the time he got there, however, his dick had gone limp, solving that dilemma. After relieving himself, he washed up and returned to bed. It was too early to get up, but he couldn't get back to sleep. He lay there, thinking about the significance of the fact he had even gotten an erection at all. The possibility of that never happening again had loomed over him, had made him feel less of a man. Since his release, he had felt absolutely no sexual desire during waking hours. Because of what the master had done to him, he hadn't been able to bring himself to even attempt an intentional erection. Just the thought of masturbation brought back terrible memories.

Harm looked over at Mac, watching her sleep. He'd had an erotic dream and he had felt a reaction, which had caught him by surprise. It wasn't very strong and had lasted only a few moments, but it was something. Although Harm's future was still uncertain, he felt some encouragement by this one, unexpected turn of events.

***

The beginning of April brought a hint of milder spring-like weather, and with it, Harm's realization that, soon, the Naval Commands in the area would be switching from winter to summer uniforms. Harm was not looking forward to this change, as he had been comfortable in his Service Dress Blues. The coat and tie uniform had been more conducive to his fluctuating weight, hiding the extent of his initial weight loss. Over the past three months, he had regained a small percentage of that loss, not so much in pounds, but showing an increase in strength and muscle mass from diligent physical training. This led him to inventory his closet; he needed to check how everything fit. If anything needed tailoring or replacing, he wanted to be ready for the change. The Dress Whites weren't bad, the long sleeved 'choker' hiding the significant permanent scarring around his wrists. The Summer Whites were another story, however. A tucked in, short sleeved shirt hid nothing, including the fact that all of his white trousers were a bit loose fitting. Harm made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snort of disgust. It was just another thing that had to be dealt with. At least, he had resumed his limited duty schedule at JAG and he concentrated on getting through each day, one day at a time.

The first of April also marked the three-month anniversary of Harm's release from his captivity. With that came a battery of follow-up medical appointments at the NNMC. The first stop was the lab on Friday morning, where blood had been taken for a complete work-up, as well as a urine sample.

The following Wednesday, Harm went to see Dr. Carrington for a thorough checkup and to receive the lab results.

"Your lab work looks good, Commander, all readings within normal parameters. I see there has not been that much weight gain since January, but your color and muscle tone looks better. You've been getting regular physical activity?"

"Yes, sir. I work at it," replied Harm. He was sitting on the exam table wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers.

"And how's the ulcer treatment going? The meds helping? You getting enough to eat?"

"Well, right now, I seem to be living on chicken broth and rice, and a lot of milkshakes. They feel kind of soothing and I'm being really careful."

"Good. You should be able to gradually add more variety. As long as you can keep the weight stable; I just don't want to see it dropping again from where it is now."

"I'll do my best."

Carrington smiled and examined Harm's file again. "I also have the results of the HIV test, as requested. It's negative." He could see the relief on Harm's face. "You've passed the three month point. We'll need to do another test at six months, and then you should have one more follow-up at the one year mark to be absolutely sure."

Harm nodded in agreement. It was important to him to not have the tiniest shred of doubt. It would be nine more months before he could put his mind completely at ease.

From there, the consultation progressed to other concerns, everything from Harm's digestive system, to sleep habits, to the residual pain in his knees that continued to plague him. Harm's questions brought up the last issue to be addressed, which was his concern about the various scars on his body. Carrington proceeded to do a close examination, starting with Harm's wrists.

The doctor moved to the other side of the table to stand behind Harm, not only looking at Harm's back, but also using his fingers to examine the skin and scar tissue, pressing and feeling the thin lines that angled across the expanse of skin and muscle.

"Any pain, discomfort?"

"Not really, sometimes I feel like my skin pulls a little, and there are times when my back still itches," Harm explained.

"Well, it hasn't been that long; some lines are still rose or pink color, but they will continue to fade with time. Most are not even raised, very thin. Eventually, they will turn white. Of course, if you are going to spend a lot of time in the sun and get tanned, they will show up a bit more."

Harm shook his head. "I think I'll be keeping my shirt on."

"That would be best. Those UV rays aren't good for you, anyway," Carrington grinned. "You have someone massaging in lotions regularly, don't you?"

Harm nodded.

"I can tell. Keep doing that; it helps. The scarring continues down to your thighs, correct?"

Harm nodded again.

"Stand up and lower your shorts for me, please."

Harm hopped up off the table and tugged down on the elastic waistband of his boxers until his butt cheeks were exposed. Carrington took a closer look, subjecting Harm to a minimal amount of prodding on the more sensitive flesh.

"Okay, that's fine, Commander," the doctor said, walking back to the chart to make some notes. Harm pulled his boxers back up and leaned against the table.

"The marks on your buttocks are a bit more significant, I'm afraid," Carrington continued. "Some of the cuts must have been deeper, since there are thicker, raised lines, as well. Even those will fade with time, though."

"I guess I can live with that," said Harm. "What I can't deal with is this one right here." He straightened up from where he had been leaning and pulled the left side of his boxers down to reveal his hip and the master's brand.

Carrington told the Commander to lie down on the table so he could get a better look. Harm turned onto his right side a bit and held his underwear out of the doctor's way while he was examined.

"Whew. I have to say that was one nasty burn. It has taken a while to heal," Carrington stated, as he manipulated the ugly scar tissue and surrounding flesh. "Does this hurt?"

"Still … sensitive," Harm winced as he replied. "I'm constantly aware of it. I can feel it right through my clothes and I catch myself rubbing at it." Even as he spoke, he had difficulty keeping himself from tracing the outline, his fingers twitching with the obsessive habit.

"H-m-m-m," was the doctor's response. The hot metal implement used had obviously been very thin but, due to the deep severity of the burn, the lines had thickened and puckered, the scar tissue dark and lumpy, but still very clearly in the shape of the letter 'M'. Located low on Harm's left side in the vicinity of his hipbone, it stood out starkly against the pale skin.

"I hate it," said Harm mournfully. "I want it gone."

"I'm not sure how much can be done here. I'm not a dermatologist, so I can't say that scar can be completely eradicated, but, with plastic surgery, there could be some improvement. The Navy doesn't usually cover elective or cosmetic surgery, but I can write you a referral for a consultation. Then, at least, you'll know what your options are."

"Thanks, Doctor."

The exam concluded with Carrington accessing the computer to check the Commander's upcoming appointments.

"I see you have another appointment this afternoon."

"Yes, my regularly scheduled session with Dr. Parnell," Harm replied.

Carrington peered back at the screen. "Ah, you'll be seeing the urologist tomorrow."

Harm merely nodded, well aware of the pending appointment. He had already cleared it with the Admiral and didn't need a reminder.

"Very good, then. You're all set."

Harm's session with Dr. Parnell was a bit different from the usual routine. Since it was the three-month mark, the psychiatrist did a complete, updated evaluation. Medications were reviewed, prescriptions renewed, and Harm's progress was discussed. The doctor made no changes in the dosage of the paroxetine for the time being. Harm voiced his concerns over the continued use of lorazepam, as he was afraid of ending up addicted to it. Parnell accessed the records on the computer and could chart exactly when and how often Harm ordered his refills. He asked Harm questions regarding his usage, such as, if he took the medication every day, if it helped him to sleep better, if he used it mostly for the panic attacks, or if he often pre-medicated in anticipation of a stressful event. He seemed satisfied with the Commander's answers and assured him that it was important to continue as he had been doing, that the combinations of drugs, along with therapy, were all to help keep him on an even keel. Updating the anti-anxiety prescription, he added the words 'as needed.'

The official diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was entered into Harm's medical record, along with features presenting as panic disorder and mild to moderate agoraphobia. Harm's limited duty status was to be continued until the next evaluation. That was also recorded in the file, along with the doctor's assignment of Harm's Global Assessment Functioning score in the 50-55 point range. Parnell explained to the Commander that he would need to see substantial improvement in order to raise the GAF score and clear him for full duty. He reminded the disappointed officer that, three months ago, his score had been even lower, and that it would not be unusual for Harm to have good days and bad days, that his level of functioning would continue to fluctuate. Harm understood completely, admitting that he knew he wasn't ready and did not feel capable of performing his job or handling stress the way he had before The Trauma.

***

That evening, Harm had dinner ready and the table set, waiting for Mac to get home. He was just lighting the candles at the table when Mac walked in.

"Hey, what smells so good?" Mac asked as she put down her briefcase and cover.

"Nothing special, just some risotto with diced up chicken and veggies," Harm smiled. Walking over to her, he slid one hand around the back of her neck, tipped her chin up with his other hand, bent his head down, and proceeded to plant a deep and lingering kiss on her lips.

Mac's eyes widened with surprise for a moment, before melting into Harm's embrace and responding eagerly to the unexpected greeting. By the time he released her, she was breathless and tingling with desire for him, wanting more.

"I've missed you," he finally said as he leaned back, his hands resting loosely on her upper arms. "How was your day?"

"Fine," she answered, looking up at Harm with a smile quirking up one side of her mouth. "More importantly, how was *your* day?"

"It went all right, all things considered. Nothing unexpected, anyway." Harm replied, letting go of Mac to walk into the kitchen. "I did get a bit of good news."

"Oh?" Mac followed.

"My HIV test … It's negative."

"That *is* good news. You must be relieved."

Harm nodded. "Yeah, it's a good sign. Two more tests to go, though, to be completely safe." He poured spring water into two glasses containing ice and a lemon wedge and set them on the dining table. Then, he pulled out a chair for Mac to be seated.

"So, are you all done for now?" she asked, as she took her place.

"One more appointment tomorrow, which I'm kind of nervous about," Harm admitted, as he dished up two plates of food. After he placed them on the table, he sat down and caught Mac looking at him with an eyebrow raised, as though expecting him to continue.

"Um … Hopefully, I'll find out if I'm ever going to be able to … you know … give you a kid and all," Harm stammered, not comfortable even talking about it, much less the prospect of going through the exam or tests.

"Oh. That." Mac understood his discomfort and tried to reassure him. She reached out to him and put her hand on top of his hand. "No matter what happens, just remember that I love you and it will all be all right."

Harm squeezed her hand and merely nodded, giving her a weak smile before turning his attention to his dinner.

"This looks delicious, Harm. I'm starved!"

Harm chuckled. "When are you not?"

They dug into the simple meal. The conversation turned to the events of Mac's day, giving Harm a welcome distraction from his worries. Mac found the dish to be quite tasty, in spite of the fact that Harm's recent cooking had been on the bland side. Sometimes, Harm would fix a separate, spicier version for her, knowing how she had always liked spicy food and other times, she would just add some spices at the table. At times, Harm would even prepare an entirely different meal for her, worried that she shouldn't have to be stuck on the same boring, restrictive diet as he was, but she really didn't mind. Mac was not a fussy eater and she ate heartily, finishing her plate. She also noticed that Harm ate a rather small portion, which was fairly typical lately. He just wasn't able to handle large amounts of food at one sitting the way he used to without suffering the consequences.

Later that evening, as they prepared for bed, Mac gave Harm a soothing backrub as she often did. Even that wasn't enough to relax him this time, however, and he remained tense and distracted.

With Mac snuggled up against his chest, he lay awake long after she had drifted off to sleep.

***

Harm sat on the edge of the padded exam table in his white tee shirt and black socks with a flimsy paper sheet draped over his lap. The nurse had instructed him to remove his shoes and clothing from the waist down and told him that the doctor would be in shortly.

Harm had gotten up that morning with such a sense of dread that he could barely force himself to leave the loft to come to this appointment. He ended up having to pre-medicate to take the edge off his anxiety. He had found that any new or different situation where he didn't know what to expect tended to throw him off-kilter. He didn't want to have to go through this, yet at the same time, he needed to find out what the problem was, what his options were, and how his future would be affected.

Dr. Trey Henning was young for a Captain. Not yet forty years of age, his knowledge and skills were highly regarded by the medical staff, as well as his laid back personality. His wry sense of humor tended to put his patients at ease and his rapport with people was more important to him than ambition or Navy regulations. He was a doctor first, who happened to be serving his country, doing his best to help the military personnel who became his patients. He, like a number of the doctors and nurses at Naval hospitals, didn't get too hung up on ranks, preferring to concentrate on the doctor/patient relationship.

With a specialty in urology, Henning's main job focus was diagnosing and treating diseases, from bladder and urinary problems to male reproductive issues, such as infertility and erectile dysfunction. For him, determining the cause of a problem was like a puzzle to be solved.

In preparation for the appointment with Commander Rabb, Henning had pulled up the medical records, recalling his exam on the patient in the beginning of January. This was a case he could not forget. While his experience was vast in handling routine illnesses, and even the occasional frustrated wives of patients with reproductive or sexual performance issues, he had also seen his share of traumatic injuries from combat or training. However, dealing with a decorated officer who was also a rape victim was highly unusual. Plus, adding the fact that the man had been sexually tortured, Henning knew he had to tread with the utmost care. That any human being could inflict such intentional cruelty on another boggled his mind. He reviewed all the recent lab work results, also taking note that PTSD was the primary diagnosis listed in the Commander's file, which was not unexpected under the circumstances.

Henning did not keep Rabb waiting long, knocking and then entering the exam room. He introduced himself immediately.

"Good morning, Commander Rabb. I'm Trey Henning," he said with a cheerful smile.

"Good morning, Captain," Harm said seriously. Although a white lab coat covered the doctor's uniform, Harm already knew the man's rank, and even if he hadn't known, all staff personnel wore identification badges as required for security purposes. Regardless, Harm felt unsettled, thinking how impossible it was to maintain any sense of military decorum while sitting bare-assed with only a thin sheet for cover.

"You may call me Dr. Henning, or Dr. H. or just plain Doc, whatever is comfortable for you." He smiled again, something that came naturally easy to him. "As the saying goes, call me anything, just don't call me late for supper." When Harm just looked at him blankly, he became determined to make him crack a smile before the appointment was over. Getting this somber, nervous man to relax and trust him was not going to be easy.

"I don't know if you remember me, but I saw you briefly, when you were admitted back in January." The doctor received a nod of acknowledgement from Harm and then continued, as he sat at a small desk to take notes. "Before I proceed with the exams, I'm going to ask you a series of questions. My first one being, how have you been doing the past three months?"

From there, Dr. Henning covered all the basics, as he asked about any symptoms or problems with urinary function, et cetera, also informing Harm that the lab work came back normal, no red flags there. He questioned Harm about stress, insomnia, alcohol or drug use, current medications, and even depression and anxiety, touching on the effects of the PTSD that Harm had been battling. As the topic moved to more personal questions, Harm became a little hesitant, but showed no other outward signs of the anxiety he was feeling.

He got Harm talking about his concerns and what goals he hoped to achieve through this appointment with him, thereby learning that the Commander had someone special in his life and wanted to know if he'd be able to father a child.

"Well, we can certainly run tests on the viability of your sperm, but I would need a semen sample from you," Henning explained.

Harm's eyes widened and he stammered. "I … I can't … that is, ah, I'm not able to …"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean today," the doctor clarified quickly. "Let's back this up and take it one step at a time. Sperm could be extracted for testing, but that would be an invasive procedure, so let's leave that as a last resort, shall we?"

Harm had no idea what that would entail, yet he couldn't help the image popping into his mind that it somehow involved a long needle. He shuddered at the thought.

"No ejaculations in the past three months, then?"

Harm shook his head in answer.

"If you can recall, how long ago was it that you were able to produce an ejaculate?"

Harm thought for a few moments, remembering his captivity. "Um, that would have to be in December, I guess."

"Any sexual activity since then?"

"No, none."

"That must make things difficult for your partner, as well. How has this issue affected your relationship?"

"She's been very supportive and understanding," Harm said. "Ah, I should probably tell you, we've never been intimate, that is, had sex, um, I mean with each other."

"Oh, I see. Had you had any problems with sexual function before … your injuries?"

"No," Harm replied quickly, realizing he needed to explain further. "We weren't together then, you know, before my abduction. We had been friends for years, but had never taken it any farther than that. Since my release, though, we've become closer. I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, but I haven't figured out why she would want me, now, under the circumstances." Harm sighed. It had taken effort to say all that out loud.

"She obviously loves you, too. However, since a satisfying sex life is an important part of a loving and intimate relationship, we're going to work on improving that for you." The Captain's smile was gentle and understanding, as he continued.

"So, in the past, you had no performance difficulties or issues in prior relationships, then?"

"No, I've never had any complaints," Harm said shyly, thinking back to his former girlfriends.

"Sexually active up until the time of your abduction?"

"Well, not really. I guess you could say I was going through a dry spell for a while. It's been some time since my last girlfriend," Harm said sheepishly, trying not to sound too embarrassed.

"Approximately how long ago was that?"

"Uh …" There was a long pause while Harm thought. He hadn't bedded anyone since Renee and had to figure out when their relationship had broken up. "That would have been around October of 2001, I think," Harm said, as he remembered. 'Oh-god, how pathetic, I haven't had sex with a woman in over two years,' he thought, caught off guard by the realization.

"All right. I just needed to get an accurate history," Henning stated, while jotting down a few notes. He wondered how such a tall and good-looking officer could still be single and not have a very active sex life, or at least have multiple women fawning over him.

"Now, let's focus on the past three months again. Have you been able to achieve or sustain an erection via masturbation?"

"No," Harm said, looking down at the floor. He really hated discussing such a difficult, personal subject, but knew he had to be honest with the doctor for any hope of receiving help. "I … uh … I haven't really tried. That is, I can't seem to make myself … do that. I'm afraid it will only trigger bad memories … or a flashback."

"It's all right, Commander. I do understand you have psychological issues, as well. So, let's discuss arousal or the lack thereof. Your desire for sexual release is low, then?"

"More like non-existent," Harm sighed.

"Okay. What I would like to accomplish today is to rule out the organic causes of erectile dysfunction. There are several tests I can do to determine that. Once we get your equipment working, then we'll see about obtaining a sample the natural way to find out if you have viable sperm."

Harm appreciated the doctor's confidence. He liked the fact that Henning did not say *if* he could restore Harm's sexual functioning, instead assuming that he would succeed.

"I know there were concerns about nerve damage, so let's address that first. In order to do that, I'll need to examine you now." Henning stood up and proceeded to put on a pair of latex gloves.

Harm gulped nervously and drew in a shaky breath, perched on the end of the padded exam table.

"You may remain seated for now. Just relax and focus on your breathing. You'd be surprised how many patients hold their breath and get dizzy if I didn't remind them to breathe. I haven't had anyone pass out on me yet, though," Henning grinned. He was a firm believer that the worst aspect of a medical exam for a patient, other than embarrassment, was not knowing what to expect. Therefore, he always explained what he was about to do.

Henning took a seat on the stool with wheels and rolled in front of Harm, ending up eye level with Harm's lap. "Time to take a look under the hood, so to speak. Knees apart, please."

Harm spread his legs open and pulled the sheet off to the side, revealing his genitals. With a perfect blend of clinical professionalism and calm demeanor to put his patient at ease, Dr. Henning proceeded, talking to Harm the entire time.

"Tell me immediately if anything I do causes pain, all right?"

"Okay."

Henning began with a visual inspection of the penis and scrotum, making mental notes of his findings to record later. There were no significant abnormalities to be seen. The penis was of well above average size, both in length and girth, at rest on an equally amply proportioned pair of testicles. A ring of scar tissue existed around the base of the penis, the slight discoloration barely detectable in the nest of black pubic hair, especially if one wasn't looking for it. Overall, this appeared to be a very healthy set of genitalia.

"Have you experienced any numbness or loss of sensation?"

"Um, not that I know of." Harm wasn't sure what the doctor meant.

"Okay, I'm going to take a hold of your penis now." The doctor lifted the lax organ to check the underside, confirming that the scarring did indeed continue all the way around. "Can you feel my hand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now you might feel some pressure." Holding Harm's penis up in one hand, Henning used the fingers of his other hand to feel the ring of scar tissue, pressing here and there. "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

Henning moved his fingers down to the left side of Harm's shaft, using minimal pressure. "Can you tell where I'm touching you now?"

"Yes," Harm looked down automatically as he answered.

"Hey, no peeking. That's cheating," Henning smirked.

"Oh," Harm jerked his head back up sheepishly, realizing the purpose of what was being done. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay. Just a basic little test to determine at what level the nerve endings can sense tactile stimuli. Now, keep your eyes up, please." Henning resumed his preliminary nerve function screening, examining the head of Harm's penis, then pinching it between thumb and forefinger, steadily increasing pressure until he got a reaction.

"O-w-w!" Harm exclaimed quickly. Henning released him immediately.

"Guess you felt that, huh? Good. I was afraid I'd have to keep squeezing. Just one more." He placed one fingertip on the side of the patient's penis, barely touching the skin. "Do you feel anything?"

"Uh-huh, right side, about half way up," Harm replied.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Very good. There doesn't appear to be any loss of sensitivity of the surface skin, so I can dispense with the biothesiometry test."

"The what?" It was Harm's turn to arch his eyebrows.

"It's a nerve function test using a vibrating probe. I feel that this is not needed at this point."

'That's a relief,' thought Harm. He didn't want to know any more about it.

"Go ahead and stand up for me. You may lean against the table for support, if you like."

Harm complied, as Henning remained seated on the stool in front of him.

"I'm going to examine your testicles now, so you'll feel my hands again. The pressure might be a little uncomfortable, but let me know if it becomes painful, okay?"

While the doctor thoroughly palpated each testicle, Harm grimaced and focused on a spot on the far wall. Henning continued his questions to distract the Commander.

"Although you've stated that you've not been able to achieve an erection intentionally, it is possible that you might have nocturnal erections and not know it. We can set up a test for that. At any time during the last three months, have you had any spontaneous erections, such as upon waking up?"

Harm wasn't likely to forget the morning he had awoken from that dream he'd had. "Well, sort of, I guess. I mean just partially, and it didn't last long enough to mean anything."

"Actually, that's definitely encouraging news. How often has that happened?"

"Just the one time, and just recently."

"Still, good to know," the doctor said, concluding his manipulations of Harm's genitals. "That didn't hurt too much, did it?"

"No, sir, I'm fine."

"You're doing very well, Commander. I need to do a couple more tests before we're all done. I'll be checking your prostate and will also perform a bulbocavernosus reflex test. Both of these require a digital rectal exam. Generally, it's easier to do this standing, so, I'll need you to turn around, facing the table, and lean over it. You can either lie with your chest against the table or just rest on your elbows, whichever is more comfortable for you." Henning made sure the lubricant was within reach and then looked up when he realized his patient hadn't moved yet.

Harm's face had lost all color and Henning detected a look of fear in the man's eyes.

"Are you all right, Commander?"

"I'm not sure. I … I should probably warn you … I have PTSD and I have a problem with … because of stuff that happened to me … with, uh …with foreign objects … hell, I'm not explaining this very well," Harm said, looking like he was about to keel over from the anxiety. He was leaning heavily against the table, with one hand gripping the edge for extra support.

Henning, noticing the level of his patient's discomfiture, quickly retrieved the sheet and handed it to Harm to cover himself. "Why don't you sit down and we'll talk. There's no rush here."

Harm did so. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I know this is important and all …" He trailed off, barely holding on to a modicum of control. Though he knew in his head that this situation was necessary and entirely different from The Trauma, he could not let go of the fear that he wouldn't get through it without losing it and making a fool of himself. Determined to keep a tight rein on that control, he kept telling himself 'I can do this, I can get through this.'

"It's all right. Your anxiety is completely understandable. Did you take any medication this morning?"

Harm nodded. "I was hoping that it would take the edge off, but I still seem to feel a little shaky."

"I am aware of your medical history, including the surgery that you had to repair the damage done to you. Do you have any pain or other aftereffects from that?"

"No. No, I healed up okay."

"Good. What concerns you more, that the exam will hurt or that it will trigger a flashback?"

"I've handled plenty of physical pain before. Mostly, I'm afraid of having a flashback," Harm admitted thoughtfully. "Once a panic attack takes hold, I can't stop it. I hate not being in control; it's humiliating."

"Well, I think it's safe to say that nobody likes these types of exams. Although they're a bit uncomfortable, the procedures are quite painless and necessary diagnostic tools. I hope you believe me when I tell you that I will be very careful not to cause pain and the whole thing will be over in less than a minute. Even if you do have a panic episode, it's not the end of the world and I'll get you through that, as well. Do you trust me?"

Harm merely nodded.

"All right, then. Do you need a few more minutes?"

"No, I just want to get this over with," Harm answered with a shake of his head.

"We can also do this with you lying down on your left side, if you think that would be easier for you."

Images flashed momentarily through Harm's mind; first, of the one night he had spent in his captor's bed as the master tended to him with unwanted touches, and then, of the invasive examinations he had endured while he was an inpatient. He shook off the memories and slid off the table to a standing position, dropping the sheet.

"No, it doesn't matter," he said grimly, believing either position would be equally difficult. He turned quickly and leaned across the padded exam unit, resting on his forearms and clutching the edge with his hands. Due partially to his towering height, he kept his elbows tucked in and held his torso up at an angle, his chest avoiding contact with the table. The position, nevertheless, made him feel just as vulnerable and exposed as when he had found himself bound and hanging in his master's dungeon for countless hours and days on end. Harm began sweating and trembling, hoping his legs would not give out, as he resigned himself to submit to the situation. After the absolute obedience the master had rung from him, forcing him to become submissive and compliant, being a cooperative patient should be a walk in the park by comparison.

"All right, Commander, I just need you to take one step to the side so that your feet are about shoulder width apart," Henning instructed as he quickly lubed up a gloved finger. It was impossible not to notice the long scars across the pale buttocks that were presented to him.

Ham complied instantly.

"I'm placing my hand on the small of your back, now," Henning warned before he did so. "You're going to feel me separating your cheeks, okay?" When he got no response, he asked, "Mr. Rabb, are you still with me?"

"Uh-huh," Harm managed to reply.

Henning did a visual inspection of the anus, the tiny pucker clenched as tight as the rest of the taut, muscular body. He could swear the Commander was holding his breath in tense anticipation.

"Keep breathing and try to relax. The gel might feel a bit cold as I place my fingertip against your sphincter." With one hand holding Harm open, the doctor began to press the well-lubricated, gloved finger of his other hand against the tightly clenched opening. "You should feel a bit of pressure, nothing more. Relax, now and take a deep breath."

Harm was unable to comply. The ring of muscle would not loosen to allow the digit to breach it easily.

"I need you exhale for me. Push all the air out of your lungs," Henning said as continued to press. Harm obeyed, but it didn't help. "Now, cough, please."

At the instant Harm coughed, his anus opened enough that the doctor's finger slipped right in. Harm would have lurched forward, if it hadn't been for the fact that the front of his thighs were already against the table.

"It's all right, you're doing just fine," Henning said in a reassuring tone, having felt the quivering man flinch at the invasion. "Can you try to squeeze my finger?"

Harm obeyed, contracting his internal muscles.

"Very good," Henning said, encouraged by the strong reaction. "Now, release and relax, while I examine the prostate gland. You'll feel some pressure and may feel an urge to urinate, which is perfectly normal."

Harm felt the finger moving around, and tried to keep his erratic breathing, as well as his intrusive thoughts, under control. Dropping his head down, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the indignity of the probing in his rectum. True to his word, the doctor had been talking him through every step, and he found the praise and encouragement to be oddly comforting. *Very good.* There was a soothing tone to his voice. *Good boy.* A different voice. *That's my good boy.*

'Oh-god, no,' Harm's mind screamed silently. His head jerked up with a sharp intake of air, just as the finger rubbed across his prostate. An intense sensation zinged through his body and it was all he could do to keep silent. An even stronger sensation passed through him as the finger again pressed and massaged the sensitive gland, causing his penis to twitch involuntarily. His knees threatened to buckle and he nearly bit through his bottom lip to keep from whimpering. He only hoped that his gasp wasn't audible. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, it stopped. The pressure let up, though the intruding finger was still inside him.

"How are you holding up, Mr. Rabb?"

"I'm still here," Harm ground out weakly. "How much longer?"

"Hang in there, just one more test and we'll be done. I'd like you look over at the wall in front of you. Pick out a picture and concentrate on it."

Harm looked up. There were three framed photo prints hanging. One was of a tropical beach with rolling waves, white sand, palm trees and blue sky. The second one was a tranquil lake with a hint of fog, a dense forest and mountains in the background. Harm could see a tiny deer near the water's edge. His eyes moved further to the right and focused on the third picture with a litter of chubby, furry puppies, all cuddled up together, on a huge pillow. That made Harm smile, distracting him from what the doctor was doing behind him.

Henning kept his finger where it was, in order to perform one more nerve function test. With his other hand, he reached between Rabb's legs and firmly grasped the glans of the penis and squeezed. The reaction was immediate, as he felt the anus contract, a strong sign that penile nerve function was normal. A delayed or no anal reaction could indicate nerve damage.

Harm startled at the unexpected handling, but it was over before he had time to think about it. He realized the finger had been withdrawn, the hands were gone, and he heard the stool roll away from him as the doctor got to his feet.

"All finished, Commander. You may stand up; just take it slow and easy," Henning advised, while peeling off the latex gloves and discarding them in a small waste can. As Harm pulled himself carefully upright, Henning handed him the paper drape so he could cover himself. "Sit and rest for a moment, the hard part is over. You did great, by the way," he said encouragingly, as he stepped over to the sink and quickly washed his hands again.

Harm was very quiet as he half sat, half leaned his butt against the edge of the table, keeping his feet on the floor and holding the drape loosely in front of his groin. The moisture oozing out of his body felt weird.

"Are you doing okay?" Henning asked with concern.

All Harm could do was nod quickly. He couldn't trust his voice to say anything.

Looking at the man's stricken expression, Henning wasn't convinced, but didn't push the matter. He placed both a box of tissues and a container of moist wipes next to Harm.

"I'm going to step out to the outer office. You may clean up and get dressed. Take your time. Whenever you're ready, just come through that door right there and we'll discuss my findings."

Harm nodded again, thankful for the privacy. Henning gave him a compassionate smile and left him alone in the exam room.

Harm released a deep sigh and got up again. He hoped the doctor hadn't noticed how much he'd been shaking. At least his breathing was back under control and he was no longer perspiring. At one point, he had felt on the verge of hyperventilating. His balance was slightly wobbly as he wiped at his rear until he was satisfied that he was clean and dry. He found the waste basket to dispose of several wads of tissues and wipes and headed directly to the sink to wash up.

As he splashed water on his face, Harm felt completely drained. He had held it together, but barely, and the experience had left him in need of an emotional release. Anger and frustration roiled through him, held in check just under the surface, as he berated himself. 'This shouldn't have been so difficult. Before, it would have been no big deal. I could have handled it, no problem. But then, everything was different – before.' He felt an urge to punch the wall, or yell and scream, or maybe even cry. However, he managed to suppress the impulse.

Harm realized what he was doing; every stressful situation would bring up the previous traumas, make him relive all of the past hurts and wrongs done to him until it would overwhelm him and cause an emotional or anxiety reaction. The phrase 'flooding of emotion' was something he had learned in therapy, so, at least, he understood what was happening now. He also knew that he couldn't give into it, yet. The release would have to wait until he was alone and safe at home. No wonder he felt so tired. Keeping up the appearance of control and normalcy in public, while battling near constant anxiety underneath, was hard work.

Harm quickly finished dressing. Now that the worst part of his day was behind him, it was time to forge ahead. By the time he walked through the door, he looked every inch the squared away Commander, his stoic veneer firmly back in place.

***

Commander Rabb was sitting across from Dr. Henning's desk, as the urologist finished up at his computer terminal.

"I believe I have encouraging news for you, Commander," Henning began. "There is nothing in your lab results that indicates disease, your prostate checks out normal, and so far, you've passed all the preliminary testing I've done. I cannot find any organic or physical cause for E. D. The nerve damage was, apparently, temporary. To sum it up, your plumbing is just fine." He gave Rabb a reassuring grin.

A look of disbelief appeared on Harm's face.

"Now, that's not to say there aren't other reasons for dysfunction," Henning added, serious again. "There are the psychological issues, of course, which would be best taken up with your therapist. Also, certain medications can affect the libido. The selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors class of anti-depressants, such as paroxetine, have been known to cause sexual side effects. Symptoms such as decreased sexual drive and arousal, difficulties with sustaining erection, or inability to climax are, unfortunately, quite common. Again, that's a subject you might want to discuss with the doctor who prescribes this medication."

Harm nodded his acknowledgment.

"Now, in the meantime, I don't want to put you through any further invasive tests or sperm retrieval procedures unless they become necessary. Do you have any questions for me at this time?"

"Just one, I think," replied Harm. "I am kind of anxious to find out if I'm, you know, sterile. I mean, there's no rush since my partner and I can't have unprotected sex until we're certain that my HIV status remains negative, but I'd kind of like to know if I *can* get her pregnant before we start trying."

"No problem. Based on her age, I imagine the biological clock is ticking, as well. As soon as it's safe, we can explore some options to increase your chances and speed things along, such as in vitro fertilization, if needed." Henning got up, went over to the cabinet, and produced a white paper bag. He handed the small package to Harm.

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," Henning said in an imitation of the old 'Mission: Impossible' television series, "is to bring in a semen sample for testing. Instruction are included in the package. I realize it's not exactly convenient or spontaneous, having to drop it off at the lab during business hours, but I figure you'd be more comfortable doing this in the privacy of your home than here."

Harm flushed, embarrassed by the realization of what he was expected to do. "I'll try," he said modestly.

"Do or do not. There is no try," Henning said, his voice sounding uncannily like Yoda. He grinned, amused by his own attempts at lighthearted humor. At first, he wasn't sure if his serious, ill at ease patient even understood the reference until, finally, he witnessed a small smile slowly appear on the lawyer's face, along with a slight shake of the head. Henning could feel the tension level drop a few degrees, which made him quite pleased with himself.

"Seriously though, we want to keep your plumbing in good working order, so you do need to clean out the pipes, so to speak, on a regular basis; at least once a week, if possible. Like you said, we have time, so don't put pressure on yourself. Otherwise, it becomes a catch-22; worrying about it could lead to performance anxiety. Let's give it a few weeks, at least. If, in two months, you are still unable to bring in a specimen, call my office for an appointment and we'll discuss sperm retrieval options at that time. Any other questions for me?"

"No, sir." Harm stood up, clutching his cover and the small bag in one hand.

"All right, then. Your standing orders are to relax and start getting reacquainted with your body. Only you can know what works for you. Then, when you're more comfortable with yourself, I'll bet your significant other would be happy to assist. There are ways to be intimate and still practice safe sex. Just be sure to avoid the exchange of bodily fluids, for the time being. Maybe it's time to make new, good memories to replace the bad ones, but there's no need to rush things. I really do believe that everything is going to work out all right, that you're going to be fine."

"Thank you, Doctor. Thanks for everything." The two men shook hands briefly.

"Take care of yourself, Commander, and best of luck to you."

After Harm left, Trey sagged against the edge of his desk for a few moments to regroup, glancing at the clock. 'It's not even lunch time yet,' he thought to himself. 'So, why do I feel like I've already worked a full day?'

This had been one of the more challenging cases that Henning had had in some time. The nervous, inhibited patient left quite an impression on him. He knew he would never forget the man's quietly brave demeanor, or what it hid beneath the surface, deep inside.

***

Harm sat in his vehicle in the parking lot of the Medical Center feeling overwhelmed. He had a lot to contemplate. Though Dr. Henning's news had been very positive, Harm wasn't so sure he could succeed in his assignment. Now that he had no physical excuse to blame his condition on, the realization that his progress truly was up to him was a bit daunting.

The last thing Harm wanted to do was to go to JAG Headquarters for the rest of the day. The telltale headache and lethargy were making themselves known. 'Oh, now the lorazepam decides to work,' he mused introspectively. Sometimes, he wondered if it was more the stressful situation or the drug that made him feel so drained and tired afterwards. The main thing was that he got through the latest ordeal. He imagined how much worse the appointment might have gone if he had not taken any medicine in preparation. It was the medication that kept him from losing it in there, of that much he was certain. The fact that he was dependent on drugs to keep some semblance of emotional balance was disheartening and he wondered how long he would have to take them.

Harm wanted desperately to drive himself straight home and he thought about calling the Admiral to say he didn't feel well. The fear of sounding weak kept him from doing that, even though the Admiral would probably be understanding about it. He also wouldn't dare to just not show up, so he tried to call Mac. However, she wasn't available and Harm didn't bother leaving a message with Petty Officer Coates.

Harm sighed as he left the parking lot and turned his Lexus towards Falls Church. He would force himself to get through the rest of the day, just like he managed every day.

***

Mac had one of those non-stop days; between client meetings and a court room appearance, she hadn't even seen Harm, much less any opportunity to grab lunch. Now, mid-afternoon, she finally found a few minutes to catch her breath when her growling stomach could no longer be ignored. Mac went to the break room and was able to snag a muffin and wash it down with some coffee. It would have to do for now. Before heading back to her office, she took a detour to the law library, just to check if she could catch Harm before he left for the day.

The library was quiet and seemingly deserted, as Mac walked in. She looked to the corner where the small desk had been set up for Harm, remembering that first day he had returned to work. He had pulled it out from the wall and turned everything around, so that he could sit in his chair with his back against the wall, facing the center of the large room. No one could enter or leave without him knowing.

Harm was sitting there, his computer monitor in front of him and his hands resting on either side of the keyboard. He appeared deep in thought, not noticing Mac's approach. She was about to speak when she realized, not only was he not concentrating on the screen in front of him, his eyes were closed. She knew that no matter what she did, it would startle him, and she hated doing that to him. Fortunately, there was no one else around to see him like this. Harm would have mortified to be caught snoozing on the job.

"Hey, Harm," Mac said softly in the silent room.

Harm's eyes flew open as his head jerked up. "Huh?" He blinked at Mac, not having any idea how she got to be standing there. "What?"

"Isn't it time for you to be leaving?" Mac smiled.

Harm checked his watch. "Damn, I must have nodded off," he said sheepishly.

"It's okay. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I don't think anyone else saw you."

"I just could not stay focused on this stuff today. I'm beyond tired," Harm said, hoping he didn't sound whiny. While that was true, it was not the whole truth. His mind had been too distracted by other thoughts to concentrate on his duties.

"Rough morning?" asked Mac, now looking concerned.

"I survived it."

"How did it go with the doctor?"

"Better than I thought it would. I'll tell you about it, but not here," he said, glancing around. He shut down the computer, got up and gathered his things.

"You better get going. I'll see you at home later," said Mac.

"Do you know how late you'll be?"

"No, I don't, but don't worry about dinner. I had to skip lunch and I'm famished. I've got a hankering for burgers and fries, which I can pick up on the way home. What would you like?"

"Um… a vanilla shake," Harm said after a moment's pause.

"That's it? How about if you try a fish sandwich or something?" Mac urged.

"Okay," he grinned. "That sounds pretty safe."

***

Mac was frustrated.

The evening had started out just fine. As soon as Mac arrived home, she and Harm enjoyed the fast food she had brought, in spite of Harm's dubious expression as he watched her wolf down a huge, loaded, greasy hamburger. She had gotten a double order of fries, hoping to share them with Harm, but he ate only a few and Mac had to practically force-feed him those. He did manage to finish his sandwich, however, along with the large shake Mac had bought him.

They had joked and laughed. Mac shared an amusing story about a peculiar, but funny witness she had interviewed that morning, and from there, the conversation had turned silly. Harm finally seemed relaxed, as Mac took his mind off the intrusive thoughts that had been plaguing him all day.

After supper, they had moved to the couch and cuddled together. Mac was practically sprawled across Harm, laying her head against his shoulder. As they talked, he absentmindedly caressed her arm, while she kept a hand on his thigh. Less talking turned into more nuzzling and feathery kisses. Gradually, the kissing intensified, until Mac tried to deepen it further by probing between Harm's lips with her tongue. Abruptly, Harm tensed up and pulled back, breaking off the heated kiss before things progressed any further.

"I … uh … I can't … we can't do this," Harm stammered, flustered.

"I'm sorry," Mac sighed with frustration. "I shouldn't have …"

"No, not your fault," he said quickly. Cupping her face with his large hands, he looked so serious. "Aw, Mac. I know you must be anxious to take our relationship to the next level, but can you be patient with me a little longer?"

"You know I can, Harm, however long it takes," she said, trying to keep her voice from betraying how emotional she felt. "I didn't mean to push. Honest. I just got swept up in the moment."

"It's okay. I mean, we're okay, right?" Harm couldn't look more nervous and worried.

"Yeah. We'll be all right," Mac smiled, encouragingly. "So, may I ask how your appointment went this morning?"

"Sure," Harm said with a shy smile. They were still sitting close beside each other, their bodies in comforting contact. "I got through it better than I expected to, but I did have a flashback at one point." Mac's eyes got bigger and Harm quickly added, "A small one. I actually managed not to have a full blown panic attack."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I got it under control without freaking out. Surprised the hell out of me, and the doctor was pretty cool, too, like there was no big deal." Harm actually sounded proud of himself for a change, which Mac noticed right away.

"That's good to hear, Harm," she said warmly.

"I have more good news." Harm paused and Mac waited expectantly for him to continue. "The doctor said the nerve damage wasn't permanent."

Mac stared at Harm. "It's not?"

"Nope." Harm's embarrassed grin was lopsided. "Apparently, my … ah … equipment *should* be operating normally; that is, there's no physical reason for it not to."

"Oh, Harm, what a relief!"

"Ah, don't get too excited, Mac." Harm took Mac's hand between his. "I - I've still got psychological issues to work through and I have no idea how much time that'll take. I hope you'll bear with me. I'm not ready to take the next step just yet, but I promise I'll work on it. Besides, you know we have to be very careful for a while longer, to be safe."

"I understand completely," Mac nodded. She did understand the ramifications of progressing to a more intimate relationship and all that would entail. Not only did she not want to put any pressure on him, Harm would never knowingly put her health at risk.

"So, you're all right with this?" Harm asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Harm. Stop worrying," Mac smiled sweetly. She had no choice but to accept the way things were, to wait for however long it took before they would finally make love. She would hold onto the hope that there was still a chance they could have a baby together. "I'm glad we were able to talk like this."

"Me, too. Feels pretty good to be able to open up to you. I've been preoccupied about this for some time. Thanks for being so understanding and patient with me." Harm pulled Mac into a hug and wouldn't let go. It weighed heavily on his mind that he didn't feel comfortable enough to be completely forthcoming. Somehow, he could not bring himself to tell her about the other issue that preoccupied his mind; mainly, the project he had been assigned, involving a cup, a sperm sample, and a laboratory to test said sample. No, discussing the subject of masturbation with Mac was simply not an option. He shuddered at the thought.

As Mac held the man she loved, she had never felt closer to him than she did at that moment.

Much later in the evening, Mac was soaking in a hot bubble bath, contemplating their conversation. It had been an enlightening evening, and yet, she was definitely frustrated – sexually frustrated. The touching and kissing before their talk had left her aroused and wanting. Mac wanted Harm so badly, but he had said flat out that he wasn't ready for anything more.

Harm had gone to bed early, saying that he was wiped out. Although the effects of the pills had finally worn off, the stresses of the day had caught up to him. He was so exhausted that he opted not to take any more medication, confident that he would be able to sleep.

Since living with Harm, there was rarely an opportunity that she was home when he wasn't also there. She left before he did in the mornings and worked a longer day. On weekends, they spent nearly all their time together. Harm avoided going out alone. Prior to their living together situation, when Mac was between relationships and needed release, she had turned to 'Bob', which was the name she had given her vibrator. That was one thing she could not and would not share with Harm, she thought ruefully. He would be just as mortified to learn about her needing a 'Battery-Operated-Boyfriend' to ease her stress, as she would be to have him discover it.

Mac needed to relieve her frustration now. Leaning back, she rested her head against the smooth, rounded edge of the large, deep tub and sank into the cocoon of warm water. Bringing her knees up and apart, she spread her legs open and began to caress her body, lost in the fantasy that it was Harm's fingers, lips and tongue touching her. One hand palmed across her breasts, alternating with little squeezes on her stiff, aching nipples, while her other hand stroked the slick, velvet folds between her legs. With increasing pressure and friction upon her throbbing clitoris, she reached her peak quickly, her breath quickening until she gasped and shuddered as her orgasm overtook her. Although it was a struggle to keep quiet, her concern over being heard by the man in the next room kept her subdued as she found her release.

Warm, relaxed, and still flushed from the afterglow of climax, Mac slipped under the covers of the large bed she shared with Harm, wearing nothing but a thong panty. She snuggled cautiously against his back and settled there, enjoying the feel of her bare skin against his warm body.

Her soundly sleeping bedmate never stirred, and she slid into slumber, as well.

Mac had no way of knowing that this peacefulness would last only a couple of hours until Harm would be reliving one of his many horrific memories in yet another nightmare.

***

* … The master put on a pair of latex gloves and Harm's eyes widened in terror.

'Oh-god-oh-god ... no,' Harm's mind screamed silently. The moment he had been dreading had arrived. It was time for the final violation. Everything else that sick fuck did to him was just leading up to this. He didn't know how he could possibly survive this, and started shaking uncontrollably.

The master ran his hands along Harm's back, pausing over the slope of his butt cheek, and continuing on down his right thigh. "Ah, such a strong, firm body," he stated, as he admired his possession. He moved around to stand directly behind Harm's ass and Harm could see down past the harness that was holding him at the exact height needed for access to his vulnerable ass. Harm looked between his spread legs and watched his captor take a tube out of his pocket and put generous amounts of lube on his finger.

"No, don't … please don't do this," Harm pleaded, making one last, desperate attempt to beg for mercy and reason with the man.

"Shut the fuck up and take it like a man," the master warned.

Harm felt his ass cheeks being pulled apart and the cold lube being spread across his puckered opening. At this point, he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Harm was having trouble breathing, fighting down the panic, trying to hang onto a thin veil of self-control. The finger was trying to gain entry to his anus and Harm clenched tightly, but his master pushed through the ring of muscle. Harm gasped in pain and his breaths came in short, ragged pants.

"Come on, sweet boy, slow down your breathing," the master called out to Harm over the strange music. "Focus on each breath, long and deep." He slid his finger further into Harm's ass, then slowly withdrew. "Nice and slow." He pushed in again, eliciting a strangled whimper from his captive. "You've got to relax, boy, it hurts so much more if you don't. Make it easier on yourself, just let go," he droned on, sliding his finger in and out more easily. Harm was in a cold sweat, concentrating solely on breathing and not clenching his sphincter. "That's it ... relax ... let it go," another squirt of lube and he added a second finger, stretching Harm's opening to prepare for his cock. With every thrust of the fingers, Harm grunted with intense discomfort, praying it would be over soon. The master was getting impatient and excited, so with his other hand he quickly unbuckled his belt, opened his pants and yanked them and his boxers down to his ankles. His weeping cock stood stiff at attention, right at the entrance to Harm's ass ...*

The dream morphed into a different scene.

* … Harm was now bent over an exam table.

"Very good," the doctor said. "Now, release and relax, while I examine the prostate gland. You'll feel some pressure and may feel an urge to urinate, which is perfectly normal."

Harm felt the finger moving around, and tried to keep his erratic breathing, as well as his intrusive thoughts, under control. Dropping his head down, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the indignity of the probing in his rectum. True to his word, the doctor had been talking him through every step, and he found the praise and encouragement to be oddly comforting. *Very good.* There was a soothing tone to his voice. *Good boy.* A different voice. *That's my good boy.*

'Oh-god, no,' Harm's mind screamed silently. His head jerked up with a sharp intake of air, just as the finger rubbed across his prostate. An intense sensation zinged through his body and it was all he could do to keep silent. An even stronger sensation passed through him as the finger again pressed and massaged the sensitive gland, causing his penis to twitch involuntarily. His knees threatened to buckle and he nearly bit through his bottom lip to keep from whimpering. He only hoped that his gasp wasn't audible. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, it stopped. The pressure let up, though the intruding finger was still inside him ... *

Harm's surroundings morphed back into his basement prison, as the nightmare continued.

* … The master removed his fingers from inside Harm, slathered copious amounts of lube on his thick, hard manhood and pressed the head against the too small opening. It would take restraint for him not to tear Harm apart. He pressed one hand flat against Harm's lower abdomen, bracing him, with his open palm rubbing just above Harm's cock. "Now I really need you to completely relax," he instructed Harm. "Open up to me now and I'll try not to hurt you too badly." Harm sensed the urgency of the impending assault and braced himself for the violation. The man pushed his way in slowly and stopped often, so Harm's body could adjust, exercising considerable control. The entire time, his palm pressed against Harm's belly, stroking his skin. Finally, the muscles gave way, and the master's rod was buried inside Harm's body. Harm felt impossibly full and stretched, his ass throbbing, and he let out a groan. The master held him still for a few moments, just enjoying the feeling of Harm's ass impaled on his cock. "Your ass is so hot and tight," he growled.

The man grabbed Harm' hips firmly with both hands, digging into Harm's skin, and started thrusting with a deliberate rhythm. With each thrust of his cock, he pulled Harm back against him, rocking him, causing Harm's wrists to strain painfully against the shackles. Gradually, his master thrust harder and harder, panting and grunting, and Harm let out moan after agonizing moan with each painful stroke.

Harm's moans excited the master even more, and he no longer held back his pounding assault. His strokes became faster, as he got closer to his climax. He reached around and harshly grabbed Harm's lifeless cock, pumping it with fury, to no avail. Harm's pain was becoming unbearable and his moans turned into howls as he broke down completely. He felt as though his body would split in two if this torture didn't end soon. …*

Trapped inside the vivid nightmare of the first time he had been raped, a harsh, blood-curdling howl ripped from Harm's throat. The loud, terrifying sound yanked him instantly to consciousness, as he gasped for air and instinctively thrashed amongst the tangled bedding.

Mac bolted upright at the same instant, in reaction to hearing the ear-piercing wail.

"Harm? Harm!" The room was not entirely dark, so it took only a few moments for her eyes to adjust. They had gotten to the point where Harm needed only a small nightlight in the bathroom, allowing a faint line of light to pass through the slightly ajar door that led to their bedroom.

Harm's chest was heaving with ragged breaths, his heart pounding wildly. Not yet focused, he reached for Mac blindly. "M-Mac?" His voice broke with the effort to hold back a sob.

"I'm here. I'm right here," she said, as Harm sat up and clutched onto her arm. Leaning over, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her. Badly shaken, Harm went willingly, needing to be enveloped within her embrace. Mac could feel him shivering violently, yet he was drenched in sweat. "Oh, Harm, you're soaked. Come on, let's get this tee shirt off of you."

Harm let go of Mac, pulled the damp, clammy tee over his head, and threw it across the room.

"You scared the daylights out of me," said Mac, rubbing his back. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry." Harm hung his head and rubbed his hand over his face, trying to catch his breath.

"Must have been some nightmare."

"Yeah, it … it was a bad one, really bad," he murmured, as he leaned closer, needing the comfort.

Mac reached around him to hold him and he clung to her, tucking his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder. In those moments of frightening chaos, she had paid no attention to the fact that the bed linens had slid down, leaving her bare-breasted. Harm didn't seem to notice, but if he did, he didn't let on.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Uh-uh," Harm said, his voice muffled. Another shiver passed through him, as he realized the day must have been more stressful than he had allowed himself to believe.

"C'm'ere," Mac urged softly. "Let's lie down." She tipped them both over until they were lying on their sides, facing each other. Harm wrapped around her like an octopus, practically crawling on top of her. Mac pulled the sheet and blanket up over Harm's shoulders, covering them both in a cocoon of warmth.

"S-s-h-h-h, I've got you," she soothed, petting and holding him until the trembling stopped.

***

As the month of April progressed, Harm kept his life as routine and as simple as possible, going through the motions of daily living. Weekdays had him going to either Falls Church or Bethesda, some days both. In some ways, enduring the regular therapy sessions was easier than the pretense that the work he was doing at JAG was in any way significant or important. His overall condition remained about the same, but his doctor kept reassuring him that progress would be made.

Nightmares continued to plague Harm, but he was unwilling to describe them in any detail. However, with Dr. Parnell's help, Harm had begun to focus his concerns on the current issues with which he was dealing. One of the main topics of discussion was about sex, or the lack thereof. Harm became increasingly concerned over his lack of sexual desire. He loved Mac, but felt no lust, no physical urge to express that love sexually. Though he felt that his medication was, in part, to blame for his suppressed libido, he realized that the fear and anxiety of being unable to perform when the time came, and the bad memories that were dredged up every time the thought of any sexual act entered his mind, were also factors.

During the weeks following the urologist's examination, Harm had woken up with a spontaneous erection on two more occasions. However, there was neither a convenient opportunity, nor a significant urge, to do anything about it at the time. Harm had decided then that it wasn't anything that couldn't wait until the time was right, and he simply hoped that eventually it would be.

One day, when Harm got home from work, he used his notebook computer to do some research on the Internet about infertility, semen testing, and sperm retrieval. After reading about procedures, such as electro-ejaculation and needle aspiration, he'd had quite enough information to know he didn't want to be subjected to any of that. He had lost track of time. When he heard Mac enter the loft, he startled and quickly shut the laptop down, trying not to look guilty, as though he's been caught doing something wrong. Harm wasn't ready to broach this subject with Mac, not yet.

Now that Harm was armed with the knowledge of what he had learned, he became more determined than ever to take care of his problem on his own. In fact, he became obsessed with the thought of successfully obtaining a semen sample, even if he would have to jerk off into a specimen cup. There would be nothing spontaneous about this masturbation session, either, he decided. It was a means to an end, a goal for him to achieve, and he took his plan very seriously.

Harm decided that he would try to accomplish his goal on a Monday. Since he reported to Bethesda on Monday mornings, anyway, he wouldn't have to make a special trip. He had read all of the instructions that were enclosed with the sterile specimen cups, and felt that if he left home right after ejaculation, he had a good chance of making it to the lab within the advised half hour window.

Several days in advance, Harm had begun preparing for that day. Whenever he was at home alone with no chance of interruption, he would try to get into a relaxed frame of mind and experiment, just a bit, to see if he could get hard.

The first time, Harm merely rubbed himself through his clothes. He had been wearing a soft, comfortable pair of sweat pants. While thinking about Mac, his fingers stroked the length of his member until it hardened, alternating with cupping his balls and giving himself a little squeeze. It had felt good, but he stopped before it got too intense, knowing it would be difficult to stop if he went too far. As per the instructions, he had no intention of climaxing, saving up for the time when it would be needed. Fortunately, Harm was nothing if not experienced in the art of self-control.

Another opportunity arose while Harm was taking a shower. He soaped up his entire body and, when he got to his dick, he began to caress and stroke the slippery shaft. The hot water beat down on his back, relaxing him and allowing him to lose himself in the sensations. It took some time, but he was finally sporting a stiff and heavy erection. Leaning against the tile wall, Harm had been pumping his cock in earnest, when he suddenly realized the water had started to cool. He had nearly gotten carried away, but caught himself in time. Panting, he turned the faucet to an even cooler temperature and rinsed off, waiting for his hard-on to subside. He would have liked to have had the relief of orgasm, right then and there, but his dedication to his mission outweighed his desire for release.

At least, now, Harm had the confidence that he could do this.

***

When Monday morning rolled around, Mac was surprised to find Harm up and out of bed before she awoke. Most days, she was the first one to rise, and sometimes, it was all she could do to rouse him and get him moving before she left for work.

"You're up early," she commented, as she padded barefooted into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of brewing coffee.

"Yeah, well, things to do and I want to get in a good workout before I go," Harm said nonchalantly. "Coffee will be ready by the time you come out of the shower."

"Okay," Mac smiled. "I've got to go in early this morning." She turned and headed toward the bathroom.

Harm watched her leave, taking note that she hadn't bothered to put on a robe, wearing only a silky little red chemise, trimmed in black lace. It hugged her curves and was very short, reaching just below her hips and barely covering where her bottom met her long, lean thighs. She looked damn sexy, he thought.

Mac reappeared a few minutes later, already dressed in her uniform. It still amazed Harm how quickly she put herself together every morning and yet always looked great. She was no-nonsense, never wasted time, and was always organized. Had to be the Marine in her, he figured, and so unlike Renee. Harm had a brief memory of his former girlfriend. She was blonde and sexy, but the few times she had spent the whole night at Harm's loft, he had discovered how much time she spent fixing her hair and her makeup, wondering sometimes if she was ever going to come out of the bathroom. Renee's looks were high maintenance, which made Harm appreciate Mac's natural beauty even more.

"Got time for breakfast?" he asked, handing Mac a mug of coffee.

"Sorry, no, gotta run. Just coffee to go, please?"

"Sure." Harm filled Mac's large travel mug for her. She took it, gave him a kiss, and grabbed her briefcase next to the front door.

"I'll see you later, right?"

"Yup. Drive carefully."

"You, too. Bye."

Mac was out the door and gone, leaving Harm standing alone in the kitchen. The first thing he did was pour out the leftover coffee that he couldn't drink, the smell tempting him. After he washed out the carafe, he checked around the rest of the room. There were no chores to be done, as he had cleaned and done laundry within the past few days and had straightened up the previous evening, in anticipation of leaving this morning free.

Harm ambled over to the stereo to load up the compact disc changer. Over the past few months, he had amassed numerous new additions to his music collection, styles and artists he had never considered or even heard of before his abduction. His tastes in music had changed somewhat to an eclectic mix, discovering and sampling a myriad of choices by searching the Internet. Originally, he had purchased numerous compact discs to help him with the meditation and relaxation techniques he had been taught to practice. He had then discovered that he simply enjoyed listening to them, as well. The genres varied from classical to contemporary to new age and even a bit of world music. The audio system was almost always playing something when Harm was home, filling the otherwise too quiet loft with pleasing sound. He browsed through his organized media cabinets and picked out a few CD's that fit his current mood to queue up. Today, he chose Andreas Vollenweider, David Arkenstone, Shadowfax, Mars Lasar, and Nicholas Gunn; all instrumental, which he preferred most of the time. He cranked up the volume so that he could hear the music while he worked out.

Harm had plenty of time, by his calculations, to include his exercise routine. Yesterday, instead of his usual time on the elliptical trainer, he had joined Mac for a run in the park, despite the protest of his knee joints, so he decided to just do some basic weight training and stretching this morning. He kept track of the time and when he was finished, he ate a light breakfast, consisting of a toasted bagel with cream cheese.

This morning had been on Harm's mind for days; to counteract the side effects of the Paxil, he had been psyching himself up mentally in preparation. Now that he was getting ready, it was more of a grim determination to follow through, than it was a feeling of sexual excitement. Ever efficient, he laid out all his clothes, plus shoes, cover, keys, watch, and wallet in the bedroom. He took a specimen cup out of the paper sack and removed the lid, setting them on the dresser, along with a label that he had already filled out previously with the required information. Then, he searched for and found a small plastic bag so he could easily carry the items.

Harm had a lunch packed and ready in the fridge and he set his briefcase on the kitchen counter so he could grab both on his way out. Satisfied that he was organized, he went into the bathroom to shave, brush his teeth, and relieve his bladder one more time before taking his shower.

After drying off from his quick, efficient shower, Harm remained naked and got down to business. He had already made up the bed and didn't want to lie down anyway, as he was afraid it would remind him too much of the time his master forced him to lie on the cot and jack-off while he watched. Therefore, Harm chose the comfortable easy chair next to the dresser, keeping the specimen cup within reach, and laid a dry towel down to sit on. He sat, hearing strains of music drifting in from the second set of speakers in the den. Leaning back and spreading his legs a bit, he took his heavy, though limp, penis in hand.

It was true, he thought; masturbating was like riding a bicycle, in that, one never forgot how. Yet, in spite of knowing what had always worked best, it took longer to get aroused than it used to. He was trying to imagine what it would be like to make love with Mac, which was something he had fantasized about often enough over the years. However, other not so pleasant thoughts would try to barge into his mind and distract him. The fact that he was not allowed, as per instructions, to use any type of lubricant was not helping matters either. His erection flagged a couple of times, but he doggedly kept at it, stroking and squeezing, using his thumb to rub across the head and spread the drops of pre-cum around. Finally, his cock was hard and throbbing, and he pulled at it with increasing pressure, as minutes ticked by.

Harm threw his head back and growled with frustration; it was taking too long. He was close, but couldn't quite get there. Pulling one knee up, he dropped his foot over the arm of the chair, which opened his legs further. He slid his other hand down, rubbing over his balls until his fingers pressed and stroked across the soft, sensitive skin behind them. Continuing to roll and tease his balls, he tightened the grip on his dick, pumping harder up and down the entire length of it. Since there was no problem with loss of sensation, the intense stimulation began to have the desired effect. Harm's mind emptied of all thought as he focused singularly on the all-consuming pleasure that was spiraling out of control. His strokes sped up, becoming shorter as he concentrated on the sensitive area underneath and just behind the crown. Breathing hard from the exertion, he thrust into his fist with helpless abandon until, at last, he felt his balls drawing up, as well as the familiar tingle, signaling eminent orgasm.

"A-a-a-h-h, fuck!" Harm was so close, nearly there, and he opened his eyes, as he hovered on that exquisite edge. At the last moment, he had the presence of mind to grab the cup with his free hand before he tumbled over the brink. He emitted a long, deep groan as wave upon wave of his climax pulsed through him, ejecting several copious strands of thick, white cum into the cup, successfully capturing his essence.

Harm's hands shook a little as he set the container down and sealed it with the lid. Checking the time, he could not afford the luxury of recovering or even catching his breath.

"Shit." Jumping up on still shaky legs, Harm ran into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, wiped himself clean, added a bit of aftershave, ran back out to the bedroom, and got dressed in his uniform in record breaking speed. He checked his watch again; it was later than he had wanted to leave. The instructions had stated that the sample needed to be kept warm, so he placed the cup into the bag and tucked the package under his arm. With keys in pocket, he grabbed his cover, briefcase, and the insulated lunch bag from the refrigerator, locked up, and hightailed it out to his Lexus. On the drive to Bethesda, going as fast as he dared, he kept the package nestled between his legs against his groin.  
Luck was with him, no major traffic delays, so he made decent time.

After stopping by the lab where he had to drop off the specimen, Harm arrived at Sally's office, barely in the nick of time for his session. He only had a few moments to catch his breath before he was ushered in, his heart still racing from the rushing around and from feeling anxiety over the possibility of being late for his appointment.

Harm felt relieved, just thinking that the hard part was over. He had accomplished his mission. Now, all he could do was wait for the verdict.

***

When Friday afternoon rolled around, Mac was glad the week was over, looking forward to a quiet weekend. However, since Harm had been unusually jittery all week, she did not look forward to having to tell him that she had to go TAD for a case and would be leaving on Monday.

Mac entered the loft, hearing soft music playing, but Harm was not in the living room or the kitchen.

"Harm?" she called out, not wanting to startle him. "I'm home." There was always a chance that he might have fallen asleep. It wasn't unusual for him to take a short nap when he got home. Mac put her things down and wandered into the den, where she found Harm just sitting on the loveseat with his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging.

"There you are," said Mac. When he looked up at her, she could see right away that something wasn't right. Harm's eyes were red and he had that kicked puppy look on his face. "Rough day?"

Harm snorted. "As days goes, this one has been particularly crappy."

"Why, something happen in 'group' today?" Mac sat down next to him.

"No, it wasn't that," Harm sighed and turned towards her. "I got some test results from Dr. Henning a couple of hours ago. I'm afraid the news was not good."

"What? Harm, what's wrong?" Mac tried to squelch a flash of panic as she imagined the worst.

"Apparently, my little swimmers aren't swimming."

Mac stared at him for a few seconds, wondering when and how he had gotten the sperm test done. "Oh." Then, the full impact of what he must have had to do hit her. "O-o-o-h," she breathed, eyes widening with understanding. "You never mentioned having that test done."

"I didn't want to say anything until I knew how it turned out. Well, it turns out that I'm … I'm … sterile," Harm barely managed to choke out the words. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I really wanted to give you a baby, but I can't."

Harm rarely addressed Mac by her given name. It was an indication to her just how emotionally distraught he was. She put her arm around his shoulders and he sagged against her, allowing her to do the comforting. Feeling defeated, he just didn't have it in him to be the strong one.

"Oh, Harm, it's not your fault. Please don't blame yourself."

"But, you must be so disappointed," he sniffed.

"Some maybe, but it's not the end of the world. You scared me half to death; I thought you were about to tell me you have a fatal disease or something. I couldn't bear it if I lost you, you know." Mac held him, rubbing his back as his head rested on her shoulder.

Pulling back a little, Harm lifted his head to look into her eyes. He saw honesty, concern and, most of all, love. "There are other alternatives we could explore, Mac. I mean, if you still really want to have a baby, you could. It just wouldn't come from me. I would love it just as much as if it was my own, I promise."

"I have no doubt of that," Mac said, her smile a bit watery. She was stunned by the news, but tried her best to hide her disappointment for Harm's sake. "We'll see."

They both straightened up, releasing each other for the moment.

"So, what did the doctor tell you? Any explanation? Is he sure this is permanent?"

"Well, he did tell me to repeat the test in three to four months, just in case something changes, but he wasn't optimistic. He threw out some medical jargon, something about low sperm count, motility, and other abnormalities. The bottom line is that my sperm, what little they found, were all deformed and dead, not a live one in the bunch." Harm paused, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. It's not as though this should've come as a surprise. After all, I had been warned to prepare for the possibility of this outcome. Still, it's not easy to accept."

They had been dealt an unlucky hand and Mac could tell Harm was taking it hard. She knew he was just as disappointed as she was, if not more so. Plus, he had the added stress of feeling inadequate as a man, along with the guilt of having failed her.

"Come on, no more apologies," Mac said, taking his hands between hers. "The important thing is we have each other. Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together, all right?"

Harm nodded and stood up, pulling Mac up to her feet with him. He hugged her fiercely and nuzzled her neck as he spoke close to her ear. "I love you so much, Sarah."

"I love you, too. Always remember that." Mac gave Harm a squeeze and then let go of him. "I'm going to go change and freshen up. What's for supper tonight?"

"Oops," Harm said sheepishly. "I've got nothing planned; I was so preoccupied, it didn't even cross my mind."

"We could have a pizza delivered," Mac suggested.

"Nah," Harm shrugged. "I just picked up groceries yesterday, so I'm sure I can find something to whip up. Besides, it will give me something useful to do."

Mac watched Harm amble to the kitchen, his shoulders slumped more than usual. She hoped the distraction of making dinner would occupy his mind, at least for a little while.

Once they sat down to eat, Mac told him that she had to go out of town for a few days. She thought he took the news surprisingly well, asking her only when she would be back.

They spent a quiet and restful weekend together. Though Harm was subdued and not very talkative, he seemed to crave Mac's touch, needing her nearby. Mac was happy to provide that reassurance, instinctively knowing when to lavish him with affectionate hugs, pats, and kisses, and when to give him his space. The only time they were apart was when Mac went for her morning run on Saturday and Harm chose not to go with her.

After Mac left the loft, Harm picked up the phone and dialed Clayton Webb's cell phone number. Not surprisingly, he got Webb's voice mail and was prepared to leave his message.

"Hey, Clay. It's Harm. It's been a while since we've heard from you and I was wondering if … if you're not out of the country … if we could meet on Monday … I need to talk to you about something … it's important. If you get this message by Monday, call me on my cell, not my home phone. Thanks. Uh … wherever you are, hope you're okay.  
Bye."

***

Harm was home alone Monday evening when his cell phone chirped.

"Rabb here."

~"Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, Rabb, I've been in debrief meetings all day."~

"Hey, Webb, I'm glad you called. Are you off the clock now?"

~"I just got home. What's up?"~

"I need to see you a.s.a.p. By any chance, could you drop by?" Harm waited for several seconds of silence before Webb replied.

~"Ah … the past several weeks have been hellacious and I'm dead on my feet. Can this wait until tomorrow?"~ Webb sounded exhausted.

"I suppose. I … I'm sorry to bother you."

~"Harm, is everything all right?"~ Clay could hear the strain in Harm's voice.

"Yeah, more or less. Just have something important to discuss with you before Mac gets back."

~"Okay, what's going on?"~ Now, Webb sounded worried. ~"Look, I know how you feel about going out at night, otherwise I'd say meet me at my place."~

"I – I could do that," Harm said quickly.

~"Are you sure?"~

"Yeah, I'll leave right now. Thanks, Webb." Harm said, determined. He severed the connection before Webb could say anything else.

Ever since Harm's return, he had avoided venturing out alone unless necessary, especially after dark. He had been abducted at night, not far from his own home and neighborhood. Aware of this, the CIA agent shook his head. "Christ, it must be important," he muttered.

Apprehensive, but determined, Harm remained alert and hyper aware of his surroundings as he made his way to Alexandria. By the time he arrived at Webb's townhouse, Clay already had a couple of stiff drinks under his belt to unwind.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Webb asked, as he poured himself another single malt Scotch.

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Suit yourself." Clay eased into a chair across from where Harm was sitting on the sofa and caught his scrutinizing stare.

"You look like shit, Webb," Harm observed.

"Gee, thanks, Rabb," Webb said dryly. "What can I say? I'm beat. Sometimes, my job just sucks."

"I hear that," Harm nodded in agreement.

"How's it going over at JAG these days? You doing all right?"

"Well, I'm still there, though I feel like I'm just barely hanging on by my fingertips. I kind of wonder why they keep me around."

"Sounds a little like you might want to give it up," Webb said thoughtfully.

"You mean just quit? I don't know," Harm shrugged. "Not that the thought hasn't crossed my mind; kind of tempting, actually, when I'm having one of my bad days."

"And how are you doing otherwise? Do you have more bad days than good?" Clay took another healthy size swallow from his glass, the alcohol burning down his throat.

Another shrug from Harm, "I'm managing, one day at a time, trying to keep on an even keel, more or less. It's hard, though."

"I know what you mean. I can't remember the last time I had a good day. It's been an overall shitty year; nothing's been going right since Paraguay. Of course, my problems don't compare with all you've been through, so I shouldn't complain," Webb said with a sigh, as he leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Well, you and Mac did eliminate Sadik; that's something," Harm offered.

Webb actually smirked at that. "Don't mind me. I think I might be suffering from job burn-out."

"Maybe *you* should quit."

"Leave the Company?" Webb snorted. "I can't imagine that. It's what I do."

"I'm just saying, if you aren't happy and it doesn't give you any satisfaction, maybe it's time to hang it up and do something else. Life's too short, which is something I'm finally beginning to learn. Finding some kind of peace and happiness is more important than doing a job that you no longer enjoy."

Webb regarded Rabb in silence for a few moments. "Jesus, Rabb, you really have changed."

"Is that good or bad?" Harm frowned.

"You're a survivor. I can't think of anyone I know that has shown more courage and strength than you have."

"Um … thanks, but most days I still feel like a victim and I'm having trouble dealing with what happened to me," Harm said softly.

"At least you're not drowning your sorrows in a bottle." Webb tipped his glass and finished off the last of the liquid contents. He set the empty glass on the table.

"No, I have prescription drugs for that." Harm's short laugh sounded hollow.

"I know you didn't venture all the way out here to talk about our careers. So, what's really going on?"

Harm fidgeted in his seat. "I need to talk to you about something … personal."

Webb straightened in his chair, certain that whatever it was, he couldn't begin to guess or to be prepared for what Rabb was about to say. "I'm listening."

"Well, it's hard to talk about and I'm not even sure if I should be here, you know, talking to you, but I had some pretty depressing news last week." Harm paused, trying to put his thoughts together before speaking further.

"Harm, are you all right?" Webb asked, anxiety now evident in his voice. "Oh-god, is something wrong with Sarah?"

"Uh, no, Mac is fine, healthy as a horse. It's me. I had some tests done and … I found out that … well, it seems that I'm not going to be able to give Mac a baby."

"You mean ever?"

"Yeah. I'm sterile, Webb, and it's most likely a permanent condition," Harm sighed, his shoulders sagging.

"Damn, I don't know what to say. Does Sarah know?"

Harm merely nodded.

"How is she taking the news?"

"I don't know. She said she was okay with it and that it wasn't important, but I just know that she's got to be disappointed. I think she's trying to spare me from her feelings about it, so that I don't feel worse than I already do."

"I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you, for both of you. If anyone deserves to be a father, it's you, Harm. You'd make a good one and I'm sorry this has happened to you."

"Thanks. Look, Mac doesn't know I'm here and I need you to promise this conversation stays just between us."

Clay gazed at Harm, puzzled. "Of course, but I don't get it. Why the need for secrecy?"

"Because there's something I want to ask you … as a friend."

Webb stared for a long moment, his eyes suddenly going wide as an unsettling realization hit him. "Christ, Rabb, this can't be what I think it might be, is it?"

"Hear me out. I just want to run this idea past you," Harm said with a hint of desperation in his voice.

"All right, talk. What exactly do you want from me?"

Harm hesitated; then blurted the words out. "To consider being a sperm donor?"

"Ah, crap, I was afraid that's what you were going to say. Why, Rabb? Couldn't you two just adopt or something? Why me?" Webb stood abruptly, running his hand through his hair, and began to pace.

"As alternatives go for Mac to have a baby, I just thought this would have more meaning than some anonymous stranger. Never mind, I shouldn't have asked," Harm said, looking dispirited as he hung his head.

"No, I'm sorry. This is just so out of left field, I'm a bit stunned." Webb gestured wildly, throwing his hands in the air, trying to buy time as he tried to absorb what Harm was asking of him. The ramifications were enormous, he thought, and he wondered how he could possibly handle knowingly fathering a child for Sarah MacKenzie without being a part of their lives, relegated to watching from afar. The fact that he was in love with her wasn't helping matters. A twinge of envy, even jealously colored his thinking. On the other hand, this put him in a position to be able to give Sarah something that Harm couldn't. If he loved her, how could he deny her anything that would make her happy?  
Webb wondered if Rabb had even considered how this would affect him and everyone concerned.

Harm spoke again, not looking up at Webb. "The reason I came to you first is because I wanted to get your thoughts on the matter, before bringing it up to Mac. I didn't want to put the idea in her head and then get her hopes up for nothing if you can't … or won't do this."

"Rabb." Webb stared at him, helplessly. "Harm, I'm flattered that you think enough of me to consider something of this much importance and so personal, but I honestly don't know if I can handle it, and I'm not sure I can explain the reasons."

"I've always thought of you as a friend, Clay," Harm said, finally making eye contact. "I'll understand if you say no and you don't have to explain why."

"Wait. I haven't said no, yet."

Harm's eyebrows sprang up with a look of hope.

"I'm not saying yes either," Clay sighed and rolled his eyes. "Just let me think about it, okay?"

"Sure, no rush," Harm nodded. "You'll let me know what you decide?"

"Yeah, and when I do, then you'll talk to Sarah?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what your answer is."

Webb gave Rabb a questioning look, only to find Rabb smirking at him. "Oh. Well, I don't know about you, but I need another drink." He went and refilled his glass. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks," Harm said, standing up. "I should probably get back home."

"All right. You've certainly given me a lot to think about. Be careful out there."

"Oh, I always am these days. Thanks for listening."

"Take care of yourself, Rabb," Webb raised his glass to the taller man.

"G' night, Webb," Harm said, as he turned and let himself out of the townhouse. As he walked towards his vehicle, he constantly scanned the area for any potential threat. On his drive home, he began to wonder just how heavily Webb had been drinking and how long it had been going on. It concerned him that the CIA agent might be developing an alcohol problem.

Webb went to one of the windows and peered out into the night, deep in thought and sipping his Scotch.

"Well, that was awkward," he said aloud in the solitude of his home.

***

It was well into the month of May, and Harm had not heard from Clayton Webb. As much as he tried not to be preoccupied with their last meeting, he couldn't help but wonder if the spook had come to a decision regarding Harm's unusual request. Perhaps Webb was out of the country again, focused on yet another secret mission, and didn't have the opportunity to give serious consideration to the matter. On the other hand, it crossed Harm's mind that Webb could be avoiding giving him an answer, afraid that it wouldn't be the answer he wanted to hear. The longer it took, Harm thought, the less likely it seemed that Clay would say yes. Those thoughts were driving Harm to distraction.

Harm realized that he had once again lost track of time when his stomach gurgled to tell him it was past time for lunch. He got up from his makeshift desk in the law library and ambled towards Mac's office, lost in his thoughts.

Mac wasn't there, which reminded Harm that she had an appointment with her internist this morning for a routine check-up. Harm checked his watch and frowned. Mac should have been back from Bethesda by now. If she was this far behind schedule, she probably wouldn't have time to go out to lunch, either. Abandoning that idea, Harm headed to the break room; he needed to get something into his stomach while he waited for Mac to return. Harm always kept a supply of instant soup cups, packages of whole grain crisp bread, and other snacks handy, just in case.

Just as Harm crossed the bullpen, he saw Mac entering from the direction of the elevators. Looking pale and distracted, she did not even see him as she went straight to her office and closed the door. He followed quickly and, since her blinds were drawn for privacy, he tapped twice on her door.

There was a long pause before he heard her say, "Enter."

Harm opened the door enough to peek his head in. "Hey, you're back. I was beginning to wonder."

Mac was sitting behind her desk, staring blankly at something, and she slowly lifted her head to meet Harm's eyes. Her shell-shocked expression alarmed Harm immediately.

"Mac? What's wrong?" He came in the rest of the way and shut the door behind him.

"I … uh … I'm a little shaken up. Apparently, my doctor found something," Mac said, trembling.

"What do you mean?" Harm tried to keep his voice calm and even.

"She wants to do an exploratory procedure called a laparoscopy as soon as possible. It's already been scheduled, in and out the same day."

"When?"

"Three days from now."

"What does she think she'll find?"

"I don't know. She said not to speculate." Mac stood up as Harm came around the desk. "Harm, I'm scared."

"Aw, Mac." Harm was at a loss for words at the unexpected news. He had to be the strong one now, as she had been strong for him all those times he needed her. Harm reached out and gathered her into his arms, Mac clinging desperately to him. "I'll go with you. I want to be there for you," he murmured into her ear.

"I won’t be able to drive after, but I could always take a cab," Mac said, stoically pulling back from Harm's comforting and much-needed embrace.

"Nonsense. I'll take you there and I'll be there to take you home and take care of you. Try not to worry, okay?"

"All right," Mac said, sounding unsure. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I need to go see the Admiral."

"I need to get the day off, too. I'll come with …"

"No, I need to go do this alone. I'll ask him to clear both our schedules for the day, if that's all right with you."

Harm nodded. "Whatever is easiest for you. No matter what the problem might be, we'll get through this together." He cupped her face with one large hand and gently kissed her lips.

"We'll know more in a few days," Mac said when he released her. "Now, go, so I can pull myself together to talk to the Admiral."

"Yes, ma'am. Let me know, afterwards, how it went. You know where to find me." Harm gave Mac a reassuring smile as he exited her office.

***

After Mac woke up from the anesthesia, her doctor came in to see how she was doing. Mac felt crampy and sore, which was to be expected. She was told to take it easy, no lifting or driving, avoid physical activity for a few days, and to get plenty of rest. When Mac asked what she needed to know, the doctor replied, "I wish I had better news."

Within a few hours, Harm would be taking Mac home. He was allowed to sit with her while they waited for her discharge orders to come through.

"Hey, how's my beautiful Marine feeling?" Harm asked, sitting next to Mac and holding her hand.

"Kind of sore," she replied, a little groggily.

"So, what's the verdict, counselor?" Harm asked cautiously. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," Mac answered listlessly, not meeting Harm's eyes.

"Well, that's good news." Harm released the breath he realized he'd been holding. "Isn't it?"

Mac stared out the window for several moments before she finally spoke. "I was so afraid that it would be cancer, I should be happy that it's not that serious."

Harm frowned at Mac's forlorn expression. "But, they did find something wrong, didn't they? Mac, please. Talk to me."

"I have endometriosis."

"Endo – what? Um … what is that?"

"You know those backaches I've been having?"

"Yeah, you've been having lower back pain for a while."

"Turns out it was actually pelvic pain, which is a common symptom."

"So, how is it treated? They can fix this, right?"

"There's no cure, Harm," Mac sighed. "There are different treatment options to manage it, pain medications, hormone therapy, possibly more surgery if all else fails; depends on how serious …"

"You said you'd be all right," Harm said, alarmed. "How dangerous is this?"

Mac shook her head. "It's more like … uncomfortable. Apparently, I've had this for a while; we don't know how long. Some women have no symptoms, especially in the early stages. The pain wasn't that bad. Oh, Harm, I shouldn't have ignored it, I should've gotten checked out sooner."

Harm felt Mac's hand squeezing his tightly, as she became agitated.

"Hey, hey, don't blame yourself," Harm said, trying to soothe and calm her. "At least, now we know what we're dealing with, so that they can make you feel better."

"You don't understand!" Mac exclaimed shortly, biting the words out with frustration. "My endometriosis is advanced. The doctor did what she could, but my fallopian tubes, ovaries, and uterus were all compromised. She told me my chances of conceiving are less than five per cent. Bottom line: I'm infertile." Mac pulled away from Harm angrily, her bottom lip quivering.

"Mac … Sarah …" Harm's heart ached for her, for both of them. He reached out for her hand again. "Maybe, we could still explore other options."

"Don't," Mac snapped. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Not here, not now, anyway."

"I'm sorry." Harm pulled back, giving her space, no longer trying to touch her. "I can't seem to say the right thing. I am so sorry." He hung his head, looking down at his own hands in his lap. An uneasy silence loomed between them for several agonizing minutes.

Mac fought to get her emotional state under control, determined not to lose it here in the hospital in front of anyone. When she finally spoke again, she tried to sound stoic and calm.

"Boy, aren't we a pair. Between the two of use, we don't have a snowball's chance in hell of having our own baby together. I've decided to give up on the idea. I'm not going to jump through hoops and put myself through in vitro fertilization or whatever, when the chances of conceiving are miniscule. I waited too long and now my chances at experiencing pregnancy are gone. I just have to accept that."

Harm said nothing. Hurt and confused, there was nothing he could come up with to change the facts or make things better.

The trip home from the hospital was made in silence, each lost in their thoughts of inadequacy and guilt that it was somehow their own fault, each feeling a loss for something that would never be.

Once they got back to the loft, Harm got Mac settled onto the bed to rest against a pile of pillows. He then went to the kitchen to make her a cup of herbal tea. When he carried the mug into their bedroom, he could see her trying to wipe away the tears tracking down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I thought some tea would help you relax," he said softly, placing the mug on the nightstand next to Mac's side of the bed.

"Thanks," Mac sniffled. "Sorry for being so emotional."

"You have every right to be upset." Harm sat hesitantly on the edge of the bed.

"Well, I don't want to be upset and I don't want to cry over this, damn it," Mac said stubbornly. "I just want to forget this day ever happened and move on." She picked up the mug and took a sip.

"I know this is a big disappointment, but it's not your fault."

"It's more than disappointing; I feel like a failure somehow."

"I think I'm pretty familiar with that feeling," Harm sighed.

Mac looked up at him over the top of the mug she was holding. "It's not your fault, either."

"I know, but I can't help feeling I've let you down. I suppose we should chalk it up to fate."

"Do you think fate is trying to tell us something? After all, what are the odds that both of us would end up infertile?"

Harm reached out to touch Mac's face, his fingers stroking away the dampness on her cheek. "I believe it's telling us that this just wasn't meant to be," he said sadly.

"Oh, Harm." Unable to hold back any longer, Mac's composure began to crumple. "I just need a little time to get over it, and then I don't want to ever speak of it again."

Harm took the half full mug out of her hands and set it on the nightstand. Then, moving across the bed, he sat down carefully beside her, wanting to hold her. "It's okay to let go."

With those words, Mac turned and sagged against Harm's body, her head resting on his chest, as he enveloped her with his arms. Rocking her gently, his eyes glistened with tears while she wept her bitter disappointment out of her system.

***

As May ended and June began, Harm and Mac had settled back into their normal routines. The days kept them busy and life went on. Harm was just about to leave for work one morning when his cell phone rang. He was surprised to find Clayton Webb on the line, asking him if they could meet at some point during the day. Harm was pretty sure of the reason Webb wanted to see him, and they agreed on a time and place outside of JAG Headquarters.

At two o'clock sharp, wearing his summer whites uniform with his combination cap in hand, Harm walked into McMurphy's Tavern and found Webb already there, sitting at a small table against the wall. Harm slid onto a chair across from the CIA agent, laying the cover near the edge of the table. He self-consciously placed his hands in his lap, rather than up on the table in front of him, still uncomfortable with the fading, yet visible scarring around his wrists.

"Hey, Webb," he said, glancing down at the man's hands that were wrapped around an almost empty glass on the table.

"Right on time," Webb remarked.

"I have a pretty good idea why we're here."

"First things first. What'll you have to drink?" Webb asked, as a waitress approached their table.

Harm looked up, slightly startled to see someone standing there. "Oh … uh … just a mineral water, thanks."

The waitress nodded and looked over at Webb. "You ready for another?"

"Sure," Webb answered.

"You gentlemen want anything to eat? We have a limited menu; sandwiches, wings, chili, that sort of thing."

"No, thanks, nothing for me. How about you, Rabb?" Webb prompted.

"No, I'm good, thank you," Harm smiled up at the thirty-something year old blonde. He had grabbed an early lunch, assuming the pub wouldn't have anything he'd consider eating.

"Your drinks are coming right up," she said, before heading back to the bar.

"Won't someone at Langley smell that on your breath?" Harm asked, gesturing at Clay's glass.

Webb shrugged. "I'm not particularly concerned."

Harm lifted an eyebrow at him. "All right, then. A lot has happened since we last spoke. In fact, when you hear what I have to tell you, it'll make your decision a moot point."

"That sounds mysterious," Webb stated, giving Harm his full attention.

"It turns out that Mac has some health issues, after all," Harm began. "She had to have surgery –"

"Good lord, is she all right?" Clay interrupted.

"She will be fine," Harm said patiently. "However, her reproductive system was affected. Clay, her chances of conceiving a child are slim to none. So, basically, no babies in our future." Harm leaned back in his chair, shoulders drooping slightly.

Webb was so stunned by the turn of events that he was rendered speechless. It took several long moments to assimilate the news. Staring at Rabb's unhappy expression, he searched for the words to say to his friend.

"That's … unbelievable. I'm really very sorry to hear this," Webb said compassionately.

Just then, the waitress walked up to them with their drinks, setting a tall glass full of ice, with both lemon and lime wedges perched on the rim, in front of the tall man in uniform, and the shorter glass with no ice in front of the man in a distinguished three piece suit.

They both uttered their thanks and she discreetly retreated, leaving them to their apparently intense conversation.

"When did this happen?" Webb asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Uh … a couple of weeks ago or so. It feels like longer." Harm looked down at his hands. "I know I should have contacted you right away –"

"Don't worry about it. You had a lot on your mind. How did Sarah take the news?"

"It was harder on her than she wanted to admit. She tried not to let on, but I think she was pretty devastated. Mac's tough, you know, been the strong one for months now, supporting me, dealing with my issues. So, she's entitled to a little time to work through her disappointment," Harm shrugged, grateful that he and Mac still had each other. If anything, the latest crisis had brought them even closer together, but Harm saw no point in mentioning it, not wanting to rub Clay's nose in that fact. "Now that that door is truly closed, we've got no choice, but to accept it."

"Very true," Clay nodded, watching Harm swallow several healthy gulps of water. "I suppose that doesn't leave you with too many alternatives, either."

"Maybe we'll look into adoption someday. I don't know. I know I'm not ready to take on such responsibility, not yet anyway. I can't even think about that now. I have enough problems handling the day-to-day stresses and trying to put my life back together."

"I understand that, you know," Webb said sympathetically.

Harm drank some more water and regarded Clay for a moment. "I actually believe you do. So, now that it doesn't matter, what would your answer have been to the favor I asked you?"

Webb took a big swallow of his drink and smirked. "That's *need-to-know* and you no longer need that information."

"Oh, come on, Webb. I'm curious." Harm had a look of wide-eyed disbelief.

"Hey, you're the one who said the question was moot. Trust me, it's better that you don't know my answer."

Harm groaned and shook his head. "*Never* trust a spook."

Webb downed the last of his drink and threw more than enough money on the table to cover his drinks and Harm's mineral water. "Don't worry, Rabb. We never had this conversation and I was never even here."

"Yeah, yeah. Mac will never hear it from me, either." Harm gave him a lopsided grin.

"Well, I've got to go," Clay said, getting up from his chair. "I'll try to stay in touch, but you know how it is."

"I should get back to JAG, not that anyone would actually miss me. Try to stay out of trouble, Webb." Harm stood, as well, and they shook hands.

"So long, Rabb." Webb strode briskly out of the bar.

With a snort and a shake of his head, Harm picked up his cover from the table. He walked toward the tavern's door, thinking it was probably better that he didn't know and that he was just going to have to let it go.

As Harm stepped outside into the sunny June day, he muttered, "Damn it, I hate when he's right."

***

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was sitting at his desk at NCIS, bored out of his mind. The past few weeks of intense cases to solve, along with Gibbs' obsession with the terrorist, Ari Haswari, who had even kidnapped Caitlin Todd, had stretched the team to its limits. Now, they had a much-needed breather, no new cases at the moment, so Gibbs had everyone catching up on paperwork, filing reports, and the like. Unfortunately, Tony found such mundane chores to be mind numbing after a few hours, and he was feeling restless.

Special Agent Rob Manning had transferred out recently, so some of the agent's cases were divided up among Gibbs' team members. Pending, active cases were to be worked on and closed, and the ones that couldn't be settled were moved to unsolved cold case files. Tony ended up with a few of Manning's cold cases, one of which was the Commander Rabb abduction case. He began to review all the information that was available in the file and became absorbed by both the disturbing details and the lack of helpful evidence. Although there hadn't been any new information in months, this was one case that Tony would like to see solved.

Gibbs surreptitiously glanced over at DiNozzo's desk and saw that the agent seemed to actually be concentrating on the file in front of him.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked.

"Yeah, boss?" Tony barely looked up from what he was reading, thoroughly focused on his reading.

"What are you working on?"

"I'm going through the cold case files I inherited from Manning." Tony quirked an eyebrow up as he paused to look at Gibbs. "Problem?"

"Nope." Gibbs turned back to what he was doing, hiding a small hint of a smile on his lips. It wasn't often that he got to witness Tony being so serious and studious.

The following morning, Tony fielded a telephone call from an officer with the Metropolitan Police. By the time the call ended, Tony was quite animated. He watched as Gibbs came down the stairs from the upper level.

"Boss!"

"What now, DiNozzo?"

"I just got off the phone with a DC cop who was looking for Manning. Apparently, he was the detective originally assigned to the Harmon Rabb disappearance back in November before the case was turned over to us. I told him Rob's not here anymore, but I'm up to speed on his cases. He told me they've stumbled across a big break, wants to show me; I got an address where to meet him," Tony said excitedly.

"Where?"

"Northwest DC, somewhere around the general area of Fort Reno Park."

"So, what are you still doing here?" Gibbs sounded impatient.

"I'm on it, Boss," Tony said with a big grin, grabbing his gear.

"Let me know what you find a.s.a.p. Also, if you need help, I'll send McGee."

"Don't worry, boss; I can handle it."

Tony was already in the elevator when Gibbs muttered, "I know you can, DiNozzo."

***

Mac had just stepped out of her office. She was on her way to the courtroom and looked over just in time to see Clayton Webb disappear through the doorway into Chegwidden's office. She overheard the Admiral's voice instructing his yeoman, "no calls, no interruptions," before his door clicked shut. Wondering what had brought the CIA agent to JAG, Mac wished she had gotten the chance to say hello to him. They hadn't spoken in quite some time. However, she was due in court and figured he'd be long gone by the time she came back. She made a point of catching up with him another time.

Moments later, another visitor stopped at Petty Officer Coates' desk. Jennifer looked up to see a very attractive man, wearing a sharp looking black blazer over a black and gray striped shirt and black slacks, standing in front of her.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo from NCIS to see Admiral Chegwidden," he announced, flashing her his most charming smile.

"Yes, sir. He is expecting you. I'll let him know you're here." Coates buzzed the Admiral's extension and he acknowledged.

"Sir, Special Agent DiNozzo is here. … Yes, sir."

"Go right in, sir," she said to the good-looking guy.

"Thanks."

As Tony walked away, Jennifer watched appreciatively, admiring the view from the back. She was also very curious as to what the mysterious meeting could be about.

It was nearly an hour later when Chegwidden poked his head out from his office. "Petty Officer, please find Commander Rabb and have him report directly to my office."

"Aye-aye, sir," Coates said, jumping to her feet.

Two minutes later, Harm tapped at the Admiral's door, not having any idea why he had been summoned, deciding it couldn't be anything good. All he had been able to find out from Coates was that Special Agent Webb and another agent were in Chegwidden's office. As soon as Harm entered the office, Chegwidden spoke.

"Close the door, Commander."

Harm did so and came to attention where he stood. "Rabb reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease." Harm relaxed only slightly, taking note of his surroundings. The Admiral was seated at his desk. There were three chairs arranged in a curve facing the front of the large desk. Webb was sitting in the center one, DiNozzo to his left. "Have a seat, Commander," Chegwidden motioned to the empty chair to Webb's right.

As Harm moved to sit down, he was anxious to ask what this was all about, but kept his mouth shut. He had a feeling he would find out soon enough.

"Hello, Webb," Harm nodded at the gray-suited spook.

"Rabb," Webb nodded back. "This is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS."

"We've met," Harm said curtly, remembering back to more than a year ago when he had been wrongfully arrested for Lieutenant Singer's murder. DiNozzo had been the one to slap the handcuffs on him.

"Hello, Commander," Tony smiled innocently, keeping his gaze steady on the JAG officer's face. With his keen observation skills, he couldn't have helped but notice the marks around Rabb's wrists when he had entered the room. Tony also noted that Rabb, other than appearing nervous, seemed to look surprisingly fit and healthy, all things considered. "I've replaced Special Agent Robert Manning."

Harm's look of recognition at the name was not lost on the three men watching him. He hadn't seen or heard from the agent in several months, and he tensed up as the reason for this meeting began to dawn on him.

"I remember him. What is this about?" Harm couldn't help asking.

DiNozzo was about to answer, when he glanced at Chegwidden with a subtle signal that he was deferring to the man in charge.

"Commander," Chegwidden began. "Metro Police investigated an incident yesterday that led to a break in the case of your abduction."

"Broke the case wide open, in fact," Webb interjected.

Harm's heart began to pound, as he absorbed what was being said.

The Admiral spared Webb a brief glare and pushed a file folder across his desk towards Rabb. "We know what happened and who was responsible. The evidence collected shows that this is, in fact, the perpetrator. You don't have to look at his picture unless you want to confirm his identity."

Harm had a white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair he was sitting on, trying to focus on what the Admiral was saying, trying to keep the feeling of panic from overtaking him. Suddenly, he was finding it hard to breathe. He didn't want to do this, but he need to know for sure, to see for himself.

"No need to worry, he'll never hurt you or anyone again," Chegwidden said, as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his desk, his fingers interlocked in front of him. "The suspect is dead."

Another hitch of breath caught in Harm's throat. "He …is?"

"He is," Chegwidden stated assuredly.

Harm picked up the folder with trembling fingers. When he slowly opened the file, the first page he saw on top was a service photo of a man wearing a Navy Dress Blue uniform. Even under the combination cap, there was no mistaking the ruddy-nosed face with jowls and thin lips pressed together in an almost scowl or the steely gray eyes that seemed to stare mockingly back at him. This was definitely the man known to Harm only as 'master'.

Harm froze, but his gasp and a look of shock gave him away. The folder slipped out of his nerveless fingers to land in his lap, then slid off his thighs, spilling the contents to the floor. He stared blankly down at his empty hands, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Harm wanted desperately not to react, but seeing that face brought all of the horror rushing back. His shocked reaction merely confirmed what they knew to be true; that his kidnapper and the dead body that had been found yesterday were the same person.

"Commander," the Admiral said gently. "It's him, isn't it?"

Harm finally lifted haunted eyes that appeared devoid of comprehension, to gaze back at the Admiral. "He's really dead?"

Webb reached over and put his hand on Rabb's left arm. "I saw him myself, and DiNozzo here took charge of processing the scene. The man really is dead."

"How?" Harm asked, wide eyed. His right hand came up shakily, to press against his chest, fingers splayed across his white uniform shirt. His chest hurt and he was concentrating on not hyperventilating.

Webb was about to answer when Chegwidden jumped in. "Commander, are you all right? Do you have your medication on you?"

Harm nodded dumbly.

"How about a glass of water?" The Admiral recognized the signs of a pending anxiety attack exhibited by his senior staff officer and he gestured to Webb. The agent stood up and went to the side table on which he found a tray containing a carafe of ice water and several glasses. He quickly poured one and held the glass, as Rabb retrieved a small, flat pillbox out of his pants pocket.

With trembling fingers, Harm managed to shake out a tiny, white tablet into his palm, and popped it into his mouth. He gratefully accepted the water from Clay, swallowing several gulps, before handing the glass back to him.

"It's right here if you need more," Webb said, setting it back on the tray. As he returned to his seat, he bent and picked up the files that had scattered around Rabb's feet.

Chegwidden knew it would take a few minutes before the medication took effect. There was no rush. He was prepared to take whatever time was needed to answer the questions the Commander surely had. Harm appeared to be clinging onto his control by sheer willpower.

Tony observed the scene in uncomfortable silence, his sympathy going out to the traumatized Naval officer. It wasn't that often that the team he was part of at NCIS got to see the aftereffects on surviving victims of the criminal cases they investigated. Usually, after solving one case, it was on to the next one. Tony tended to wonder how, or even if, the victims moved on. He sincerely hoped that it would give Rabb some measure of relief to know that this particular psychopath could never again ruin another person's life.

"I can't believe that bastard was Navy," Harm said suddenly, his voice rough, as he recalled the photograph. He had been so stunned by seeing the man's face, it had barely registered that the picture showed him in a Naval uniform, much less notice the rank.  
"Who was he and how did he die?"

Webb handed the files back to Chegwidden, who put on his reading glasses and opened the folder on his desk. Though he had memorized the pertinent information, he kept the pages handy to refer to.

"His name was Kent Williams and he was a retired Senior Chief," the Admiral began. He looked at Harm for a reaction. "Does the name ring a bell?"

"No, and I'd never met him before then, either," Harm shook his head. His fingers self-consciously rubbed his hip over the spot where he had been branded. Even through his trousers, he could always feel the mark his captor had burned into his flesh, just as every time he dressed or undressed and looked down, he'd see that 'W' haunting him. All of a sudden, he flashed back to the day that man had painfully disfigured him and a sickening realization hit him. There was nothing coincidental about the letter 'M' looking like a 'W' from Harm's view. It was just another cruel joke played by the master whose name was Williams. Harm started to feel nauseated as he said grimly, "Well, I sure as hell won't ever forget that name now. What else can you tell me about him?"

The Admiral checked the file. "He was born in March of nineteen fifty eight, he did twenty-four years active duty, and was then transferred to Fleet Reserve two years ago."

Harm mentally did the math. "That would make him forty six now. He was only five and a half years older than me? He looked so much older. I assumed he was in his fifties," Harm murmured. "What happened to him?"

Chegwidden nodded at the NCIS agent to take over. Tony took his cue and went into professional mode. Opening the file he had on his lap, he prepared to give his succinct statement of the most basic facts.

"Yesterday morning, police responded to a call made by an observant neighbor who insisted there was something suspicious going on next door. When the officers gained entry to the subject's residence, they discovered a DB, male, in the living room. No outward signs of foul play. Subject was later identified as Kent Williams, owner of the residence. Preliminary autopsy determined COD to be a massive coronary failure, as in fatal heart attack, and that death occurred approximately thirty six to forty eight hours prior to finding the body. Autopsy also indicated serious liver damage due to chronic alcohol abuse and his service medical records revealed a history of angina and heart disease." Tony concluded by closing his folder.

"So, he died of natural causes," Harm said, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

"He was a heart attack waiting to happen. The important thing to keep in mind is that he is no longer a threat to you or anyone else. Despite the fact that he might not have been brought to justice for what he did, the world is rid of one more psychopathic criminal. I hope knowing that will help to give you a bit of closure, Commander," said Chegwidden.

"I hope so, too, sir," Harm said soberly. "Even though it's sinking in that he's gone, I don't know if I'll ever really be free of him." Harm seemed momentarily resigned to a calm acceptance of the situation until a questioning look crossed his face.

"There are some things I don't understand, though," Harm said, puzzled. "If the local police were the ones to find the dead body, how did they know to call NCIS?" He looked at DiNozzo. "Why were you the one to process the scene?" Harm's gaze then moved to Webb, who had been awfully quiet. "And what is your involvement? Why are you even here?"

Webb cleared his throat with a quick glance to Chegwidden. Trying to stall having to give an answer to Rabb's question, Tony's eyes went back and forth between Webb and the Admiral, before dropping his gaze. The three of them could see that Harm was attempting to figure out the puzzle.

"How did everyone know he was connected to me and not just some random guy who dropped dead in his house?" Harm asked, catching their guilty expressions and becoming agitated once again. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Calm down, Commander. We'll answer all your questions," the Admiral said with a deep sigh.

"We wanted to spare you the gory details, Rabb," Webb said, glaring at Chegwidden, obviously not in agreement with the Admiral's decision.

DiNozzo wisely remained silent. Prior to summoning the Commander, they had all argued at length about how much information to give him.

Chegwidden fixed a deadly serious look at Webb. "Commander Rabb has a right to hear the truth, however much he feels he can handle."

He looked back at Rabb. "You're right. There is more you need to know."

Harm took a deep breath to brace himself. "Tell me everything."

"I'll start at the beginning," Chegwidden stated. "Back in November, when you first disappeared, I solicited Webb's assistance right from the beginning. We reported you missing and the police put out an APB and circulated your picture. You even made the local news. Other than finding your vehicle, there was nothing to go on. NCIS took over the investigation, with the police giving up jurisdiction entirely. As you know, Robert Manning was in charge of your case.

"Apparently, one of the officers to respond to yesterday's scene had been on the original case. Special Agent DiNozzo will take it from here," the Admiral said, nodding at Tony.

"Officer Benetti was examining the scene where the body was located and called NCIS looking for Manning, because he found something with your name on it," Tony began. Harm's eyebrows shot up in alarm, but he waited for Tony to continue. "He told me that as soon as he recognized the unusual name, he connected the dots and said I should come see this. I told him not to touch anything and I immediately went to the address he gave me. When I got there, the deceased was lying back on a recliner in the living room. The television was still on, but it was showing a blank blue screen. Benetti pointed out that the VCR was also on, which contained a partially ejected videotape, showing a label that spelled out 'HARMON RABB' in handwritten block letters and numbers that appeared to be dates.

"After I got the scene officially turned over to NCIS, I called for backup. The Medical Examiner came and took the body, and we spent the rest of the day processing the scene. Upon further examination of the room, we discovered a whole collection of videotapes hidden inside a locked cabinet. They were dated from mid-November through December of last year and they all had your name printed on them." With that explanation, Tony paused and looked down at his notes, though he had no need to refer to them. "We bagged and tagged all the evidence and I contacted Special Agent Webb to inform him of the developments."

"So … these tapes were of me? He recorded me?" Harm squawked.

"I'm afraid so," Webb jumped in. "By the time I got there, DiNozzo and another agent had searched the entire house, looking for prints and other clues. For the most part, it looked like an ordinary, older, narrow lot home, typical for the area. It's a bit rundown on the outside, but the interior seemed neat and clean. Williams lived alone; he had apparently inherited the residence from his mother. Main level has a kitchen, dining room, the living room, and a small lavatory. The second floor has two bedrooms and – "

"I know," Harm interrupted. He could picture some of what Webb described, causing painful memories to flood through him. "I remember the living room, walls of shelves with books and movies, a fireplace, and tall, narrow windows covered with heavy drapes."

"Yes," Webb confirmed. "So you spent some time in there?"

"Not a lot … just a couple of times, I think. I'm not sure, " Harm responded, sounding detached.

"Well, we found the basement, too," Webb revealed. "It had been divided into three areas; a small open area at the bottom of the stairs containing a washing machine and dryer, storage shelves, tools, et cetera, a small room to one side, and a larger, windowless room that spans the rest of the cellar. There wasn't much in there; a sink, an old table, a mirror on the wall, and four floor to ceiling, iron poles."

Harm shuddered with the memory of that prison. "That's where I was kept," he murmured.

"That's kind of what I figured," Webb noted. "It turns out the smaller room was used as an observation room, looking into the main room."

"The big mirror on the wall –" Harm started, looking alarmed.

"Yeah, it was a one-way window," Webb confirmed. "That's most likely where he had the video camera set up, but that was no longer there."

"I found one packed away in a closet upstairs, probably the same one," DiNozzo added.

"What about the video tapes?" Harm asked in a near panic. "Tell me you destroyed them!"

"No, I'm sorry, that's not possible. They're evidence and safely under lock and key," Webb stated.

"What do you mean evidence? "You haven't *watched* them, have you?" Harm looked frantically from Webb to DiNozzo, horror-stricken as he imagined NCIS agents sitting around and seeing all of the sick things that had been done to him.

"Well, actually – " Tony started to explain.

"Oh-god, I'm going to be sick," Harm said, looking ashen as another wave of nausea roiled through his gut. He knew he didn't stand a chance of holding it down all the way to the men's restroom. Fortunately, the Admiral had his own private washroom right off his office and he quickly gestured at the door. Harm jumped up and bolted, slamming the door behind him.

"Damn it," Chegwidden muttered, as they all heard the muffled sounds of the Commander retching. He threw his glasses on his desk and rubbed at his face with one large hand.

Tony sat there thinking, 'Well, that went well.'

The next three minutes felt more like three hours, as they waited for Rabb to reappear. He came out looking pale and defeated.

"Uh … sorry," Harm said, sinking heavily back into the chair.

"Commander, you don't have anything to apologize for," Chegwidden said gently. "I understand all this information is a shock for you, but there was no easy way to tell you this. Are you all right?"

Harm nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

"Agent DiNozzo, please continue."

"Thank you, Admiral." Tony looked over at Harm. "I was just going to say that I have not examined the tapes, other than having them marked and inventoried. I assure you, no one else at NCIS has seen them, either. In fact," Tony glanced at Webb, "we agreed to turn the tapes over to Special Agent Webb."

"We want those other two kidnappers found and prosecuted, so someone has to go through the footage in the hopes of finding clues to their identities," Webb explained. "I thought it would be better that I handle that job personally, rather than some stranger. If there was any other way … but we'll need that evidence. Apparently, the premises had been thoroughly cleaned and bleached. So far, the only fingerprints found belong to Williams. He was very good at covering their tracks."

As much as Harm hated the thought of Webb witnessing his torture, rapes and degradation, he understood that Webb's decision would be the lesser of two evils. Realizing Webb was trying to protect him from further humiliation, Harm trusted him to have his best interests at heart. Webb was the best person to handle such a difficult and thankless task. No one would be more familiar with interrogation, brainwashing, and torture techniques than a trained and experienced CIA operative.

"I suppose I have no choice but to accept this," Harm sighed. He couldn't look Clay in the eyes. "Have you looked at them yet?"

"No, I only took custody this morning. There are hours and hours of footage. Each tape was marked with dates and there are only two days missing from the entire time of your captivity."

"Which dates?"

"The twenty fourth and twenty fifth of December."

Harm made a strange little choked sound. "I – I was taken out of the cellar one day and returned the next. That's when I saw other parts of the house. It had to be then. … That sick son-of-a – "

As Harm remembered all of what had transpired outside of the basement for those two days, his head dropped. Rubbing his forehead with one hand, he covered his face to hide stinging eyes, fighting to control his breathing. "Damn him to hell."

After a deep breath, Harm said shakily, "I wish I could understand why he did what he did. What possessed a man like that? Why me?"

"Webb and I had been wondering the same thing," Chegwidden stated. "After NCIS made the I.D. and learned Williams was retired Navy, we had copies of his service record pulled, did some digging, and found a connection to this office." He reopened the file, put his glasses back on, and then peered over them to fix a steady gaze on Harm. "There was no excuse that this man could've used to justify what he did or why, but at least we have a theory. Are you ready to hear it?"

"I'm listening," Harm nodded, leaning forward in his chair as he waited expectantly.

"Williams had made it to as far as Senior Chief without too much difficulty, but by the time he reached his twenty year mark, he'd been passed over for selection to Master Chief a couple of times. It seemed that his caustic personality and lifestyle were catching up with him. Rumors, although not proven because subordinates would not speak up, began to float around that he was not easy to work for, was crude and kinky, and used intimidation as a leadership method. He didn't think much of women being in 'his Navy' and was warned about his chauvinistic attitudes, though he didn't appear to treat men any better. He was also suspected of frequently getting drunk and picking up women on his off-duty time, not exactly inspiring respect and loyalty from his subordinates. His performance evals had, therefore, slipped off of the four-point-oh mark.

"As Williams approached the end of his last enlistment period, he had enough black marks in his record that, not only did he have zero chance of making Master Chief, he was not given the option to reenlist and would be separated at the expiration of his current enlistment. He was determined to fight it legally, so in April 2002, he came to JAG seeking counsel. I had the file pulled from our archives. His case was assigned to Lieutenant Singer, not that there was much of a case. The file consisted of one consultation containing the Lieutenant's notes of the meeting, where she basically told him he didn't have a leg to stand on and that he should consider himself lucky to receive an honorable discharge with retirement benefits." At this point the Admiral smirked facetiously. "Knowing Loren Singer as we did, I have no doubt that she was blunt and to the point."

"What happened then?" Harm asked, remembering Singer as overly ambitious, condescending, and outright rude.

"According to Singer's notes, Williams didn't accept her advice and wanted a different attorney, a higher ranking one. When she made it clear that no one would take this case, he became verbally abusive, attempting to intimidate her. He said that the only thing he wanted, the one thing that mattered most to him, was to be a Master Chief, that he worked his entire career towards that goal, and now the Navy higher ups were screwing him over. Apparently, she informed him that if he didn't adjust his attitude, she would be happy to refer him straight to the top and see what the JAG had to say on the matter. Realizing he couldn't win, he backed down and left in a huff. The Lieutenant noted that Williams was observed stalking out through the bullpen and muttering comments like "useless Navy lawyers thinking they're superior", "messing with the wrong guy", and "getting even."

"Three months later, he was processed out and never heard from again. I contacted his former Commanding Officer earlier and he told me how Williams had insisted on a retirement ceremony during which he made a rather bitter speech. Everyone was just relieved he was finally gone," Chegwidden paused, leaning back in his chair.

"We believe that Williams was bent on revenge and planned out his diabolical plot for several months and that, logically speaking, his original target could very well have been Loren Singer," Webb interjected.

"And if that was true, the fact that Lieutenant Singer transferred out of D.C. that October would have thrown a monkey wrench into his plans. Williams had to regroup and find a substitute target," said Chegwidden.

"That would explain why it took over a year to carry out his revenge," Webb added. "He had to choose someone else and do his research. He might have been following you for months."

"So you're saying that it wasn't personal, that I was picked at random to be his victim," Harm said, incredulous.

"Well, personal against JAG lawyers, but not you specifically, no," said Chegwidden. "Since Lieutenant Singer was gone, he could have targeted any one of our staff people."

It was a sobering thought and everyone in the room realized it.

"The … he had surveillance photos of Mac," Harm said quietly. "He showed them to me only a few days into my captivity … used them as blackmail to ensure … my compliance."

"I doubt there was anything that Williams wasn't capable of, so that doesn't surprise me. The important thing to remember now is that threat has been removed," Chegwidden assured Rabb, who seemed to be in a daze. "Do you understand, Commander?"

Harm snapped back from wherever he had gone in his mind and looked up slowly. "Yes, sir." Putting it all together, he realized some things about his captor that now made a twisted sort of sense: his talk of revenge, his henchmen addressing him as Chief, and vague clues that had given Harm a feeling that he had a military background. The man's insistence that he be called 'master' was to make up for the fact that he had been unable to attain the rank of Master Chief Petty Officer. Overall, everything that Harm had learned today was mind-boggling.

"Well then, if there's nothing else, I believe this meeting has been enough of an ordeal for the Commander for one day," the Admiral addressed the group at large.

"Actually, Admiral, I do have another question," Harm said. "It's private, sir."

"Very well."

Chegwidden nodded to Webb and DiNozzo. "Special Agent DiNozzo, Webb, my thanks to you both for your invaluable assistance on this matter. I trust that this entire case will be wrapped up quickly."

"I hope so, Admiral," Webb said, tossing his files into his briefcase, before standing.

"Thank you, sir." Tony stood as well to gather his things, acknowledging the meeting was over and he was being dismissed. He turned to Rabb and said, "Good luck to you, Commander."

Harm's answer of thanks was so soft, it was barely heard, as DiNozzo and Webb exited together.

The Admiral regarded Rabb for a few moments before speaking. "How are you holding up, son?"

"I, ah … " Harm pursed his lips and blew out his breath. "I'm not sure, sir. Overwhelmed? A bit shell-shocked, maybe?"

"Understandable. You have something you wanted to ask me."

"There's something I need to know that's been bothering me for a while. Near the beginning of my captivity, the – I mean Williams, took some compromising pictures of me and threatened to send them to you. Towards the end, he told me he did send them. By that point, I didn't know what to believe anymore. I guess I'm asking if you ever received such photos."

"I did," Chegwidden said simply.

"Oh," Harm flushed with shame and looked down at the floor.

"A package was delivered here anonymously the first week you were missing," the Admiral quickly explained. "The photos accompanied a typed letter. I want you to know that I didn't believe what I saw for a minute. I knew something was terribly wrong and that's when I sought Webb's help."

Harm looked stricken.

"He was the only one I could trust. When we figured out what was really going on, he tested everything for prints. Once the analysis was completed, he destroyed the pictures. I promise you, no one else ever saw them and when Webb is finished with those videotapes, I'll see to it that they are destroyed, as well."

Harm gave a quick nod of acknowledgement, his lips pressed tight in a thin line, as if it was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart. "So, Williams even lied about when he sent those photos. I don't know why I'm surprised, nothing should by now." By this point, Harm's voice was tremulous with emotion.

"Commander, I'm sending you home, but I don't want you driving. Have Coates call you a cab."

"Yes, sir." Rabb pulled himself to his feet, standing straight and tall with as much dignity as he could muster.

Chegwidden looked up with a steady gaze, then shook his head slightly. "Not even a little protest? The old Rabb would have argued with me," he teased lightly, as Harm made his way to the door.

Harm turned as he opened the door. "Sorry, Admiral, I'm afraid the old Rabb is gone," he said somberly before making his exit and closing the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, too, Harm," Chegwidden said, alone in his office.

Mac had just turned the corner when she noticed two men in civilian clothes enter the elevator. She saw only their backs, but she could have sworn one of them was Clayton Webb. By the time she got to the elevator doors, they had closed and the occupants were gone. Mac walked away wondering what Webb had been doing there, but didn't have time to give it any more thought as she headed to the conference room.

Webb and DiNozzo were the only two people in the elevator as it descended.

"Whew, man, that was intense." Tony breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall.

"It was rough, but Rabb deserved to hear the truth," Webb said sourly.

"Just not the whole truth, huh?"

Webb glared at him. "There was no need for him to know what caused Williams' heart attack."

"Hey, I'm not disagreeing with that, but what if he had asked to read the autopsy report or, worse yet, to see the photos of Williams at the scene of his death?"

"Then, you would have had no choice but to share the information," Webb called out as he exited and left Tony standing there.

Watching Webb walk away, DiNozzo certainly didn't envy him having to monitor many hours of video, hoping to find what they needed. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it, and Tony was grateful that Webb had taken the unpleasant task upon himself.

Tony headed out into the parking lot, mumbling all the way to his car. The meeting had unnerved him and he was relieved it was over. Fortunately, Commander Rabb had seemed satisfied with the amount of information given and had not pushed for more details. Tony thought the man had been through more than enough and he believed knowing the bizarre circumstances surrounding Williams' death would have been too much information.

As DiNozzo drove back to the NCIS Headquarters, he shuddered, unable to shake the images of yesterday from his mind. Officer Benetti had shown him into the living room of the old, small house, strong with the odor of death. The dead body was in a reclining position in the large easy chair, the bluish gray skin showing the early stages of decomposition. Immediately noticeable was the state of undress. Williams was wearing a robe and it had fallen open, revealing that he wore nothing underneath, leaving him exposed. Tony observed the presence of a dried, white substance on various parts of the man's torso and penis. He and the DC Metro cop speculated on what the man might have been doing just before he died. Then, he was shown the VCR with the videotape sticking out of the machine. Taking notice of what was hand printed on the label in block letters, Tony took pictures before carefully removing the tape with a latex-gloved hand. It had apparently ejected when it reached the end. Tony couldn't help but wonder if the deceased had been watching this tape while masturbating prior to his fatal heart attack. Later, the autopsy report had confirmed his theory; the substance found on the body was semen and sexual climax could very well have precipitated the subject's heart attack. Tony had also learned that it could have taken anywhere from a few moments to several minutes for the heart to die, that the man would have been in excruciating pain, and very possibly aware of what was happening to him. Williams got off easier than he deserved, Tony thought darkly. As far as he was concerned, that demented nut case didn't suffer nearly enough compared to the suffering he had inflicted.

Tony sighed with relief; secure in the knowledge that Harmon Rabb would never have to know the exact circumstances surrounding the death and discovery of Kent Williams.

***

Mac let herself into the loft. With the days getting longer, it was still light out, despite having left work a bit late due to a conference with a client and opposing counsel that took longer than expected. Mac had been finishing up for the day when Admiral Chegwidden caught up with her to inform her of the reason Commander Rabb's vehicle was still in the JAG parking lot. Stunned by the news, Mac left in a hurry, anxious to get home to Harm.

Mac was met with silence and no sign of Harm. There wasn't even any music playing, which was unusual. She walked through the empty living room, passed through the exercise area and den, and entered the bedroom.

She found Harm. He was lying curled up on his side of the bed, his back to the door. It had been a warm day and Harm had stripped out of his uniform down to his boxers. The bedding had been neatly folded down to the foot of the bed so that he was resting on a cool sateen sheet. Mac looked at his broad back for a few moments, her eyes drawn downward to his two dimples that were showing just above the elastic waistband of the white boxers covering his buttocks.

"Harm? You awake?" Mac asked softly. She was always conscious of Harm's low startle point these days.

"Yeah," Harm responded, barely stirring. His face was turned away from her, pressed into the pillow that he had wrapped one arm around, hugging it underneath his head.

Mac stepped out of her black pumps and approached the other side of the bed. "Hey. You okay?"

Harm rolled over onto his back, propping the pillows under his head. Mac noticed his face looked flushed and his eyes were bloodshot.

"He's dead, Mac," Harm stated in a flat voice, staring up at the ceiling. "The psycho that nearly killed me is dead." The enormity of the day's revelations had left him emotionally drained.

"I know."

Harm turned his head and stared at her, surprised by her statement.

"The Admiral just gave me the bare basics before I left," Mac explained.

"I tried to find you to tell you before the taxi showed up, but you were tied up with a client."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," Mac said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now," Harm said as he looked away. He sounded exhausted, his voice barely audible.

"Okay. Is there anything I can do for you?" She was struck by how subdued he appeared after the monumental news he had received.

Harm gazed at her with such longing before answering. "Yeah. There is."

Mac gave him a hint of a smile. "Name it."

"Come 'ere. I just really want to hold you right now. I – I need to … *feel* you."

Harm's voice, sounding husky and wavering slightly, sent a quiver of emotion through Mac. She was more than happy for the opportunity to cuddle with him. Not that she didn't crave more, but she was understanding of both his physical and psychological difficulties. Their relationship had been progressing steadily, albeit slowly, to a more intimate level, just short of actual sex. Harm had become more comfortable with giving and receiving affection, much to Mac's delight. They enjoyed each other's company and a relaxed closeness together that gave Mac hope for more in the future. Although still painfully modest, Harm was even getting better about letting Mac look at his body. He never quite believed that Mac could look past his scars and still see a handsome, sexy man, no matter how much she tried to convince him.

Always the practical Marine, she stood back up and quickly took off her uniform, carefully draping the articles of clothing over a chair for the time being. Once she was stripped down to only her bra and panties, she got onto the bed and crawled up alongside Harm, snuggling against him with her head on his bare chest. Mac casually wrapped an arm around his waist, while sliding a leg over and between his so that they were intertwined. Harm turned towards her, pulling her to him, nuzzling into her neck with a sigh while Mac stroked his side and back with her hand. They spent several quiet minutes like that, the petting, nuzzling and soothing touches a comforting balm for Harm's nerves.

Mac could tell when Harm finally relaxed, knowing he felt safe and loved. "Harm?"

"H-m-m?"

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"Uh-uh."

"Good, 'cause I could use a shower."

"Me, too. But not just yet."

"No rush." Mac's fingers continued stroking lightly across Harm's back. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Relieved. It was an unexpected shock and I have mixed emotions about how things ended. I mean it's over and yet it won't ever really be over for me. But, yeah, I'm mostly relieved."

"Well, if nothing else, at least you don't have to look over your shoulder anymore."

"That's true," Harm agreed. "Mac, I was just thinking; no matter how much it costs, I want to have the surgeries to get rid of that hideous brand."

"You know I support your decision. We'll manage."

Harm pulled back from their cuddling to look into Mac's eyes. "I love you. And one of these days I'm going to show you how much."

"I know," Mac smiled. "Now, how about that shower?"

"M-m-m, got an even better idea; a relaxing bubble bath, followed by comfort food."

Mac's eyes lit up. "Together?"

"Sure," Harm chuckled. He planted several kisses on her face, ending with a lingering one on her lips. Ever conscious of the exchange of bodily fluids issue, neither of them attempted to deepen their kissing further, not until they could be absolutely sure it was safe.

When they finally released each other, Mac said, "All right, come on. But I want food first, then the bath.

"Why am I not surprised?" Harm grinned.

"And then we should turn in early. After all, you have to ride in with me in the morning."

Harm groaned, rolling his eyes. "I almost forgot."

***

For Mac and Harm, the events that transpired that evening led to a new level of intimacy in their relationship, much to Mac's surprise and delight. The memory of what they shared gave her a tingling thrill every time she thought of it and she would blush at the anticipation of the next time they would share so much more than just a bath.

It had started out innocently enough.

Harm had prepared the large tub, which was full of hot water, capped by a mound of bubbly foam. He got in first, dropping the towel from around his waist at the last moment, and then settled against one end of the tub. The heat of the water felt so good as it penetrated his muscles and joints.

"Come on in, there's plenty of room," he said to Mac, who was standing in the middle of the room with a bath towel wrapped around her. Stepping into the tub facing Harm, she tossed her towel aside and sank gracefully into the water, smiling demurely at him. Glimpsing Mac's gorgeous body reminded Harm just how stunningly attractive and desirable she was. Now, she was covered up to her shoulders in water and bubbles.

Harm had spread his legs so that his knees were against the sides of the tub, and he reached down into the water, finding one of Mac's feet. He grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her foot toward him until it rested against his chest.

"Oh! What are you doing?" Mac gasped, grabbing onto the tub's edge to keep herself from sliding down.

"Thought I'd give you a foot rub," Harm grinned, as he began kneading the sole of her foot with his thumbs.

"Well, in that case," Mac giggled, pressing her other foot up against Harm's taut stomach, as well. She leaned back and closed her eyes, resting her head as Harm massaged her feet. "M-m-m-m, that feels wonderful."

With soft music playing in the background, Harm's ministrations continued for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"Turn around."

"Hmm?" Mac opened her eyes, looking at him with a half-lidded dreaminess.

"C'm'ere. Let me do your neck and shoulders."

Mac pulled her feet back to where she sat huddled up in a ball. She scooted towards Harm, turning as she did so until her back was to him.

The firm massaging of her neck and back soon gave way to lighter touches along her shoulders and arms, causing Mac to sigh with contentment. Harm dipped both hands in the warm water and then slid them up over her arms and across her collarbones, caressing her smooth, silky, wet skin. Mac's head lolled back as Harm's fingers ended up at her throat.

"Here, lean back against me," Harm urged, moving his fingers down again, and pressing lightly against the front of her shoulders.

Mac let herself sag against his chest, relaxing even further as his hands dropped lower. Her body pressed against his, and she felt his manhood nestled against the small of her back. His fingers began to slide over the top swell of her voluptuous breasts, slippery from the water. A small moan escaped from Mac's lips, as she suddenly went from a state of relaxation to one of arousal.

"Just let me love you," Harm whispered against her ear, before pulling her lobe between his lips.

Mac's immediate response was to arch up into his touch, and Harm began a twin assault on her nipples, which were already stiff and aching for more stimulation. His hands were busy, alternating between gently sliding his palms across her ample breasts and rolling and squeezing the hard nubs between his thumbs and forefingers.

Mac turned her face sideways into the crook of Harm's neck and whimpered with need.

"Please, please," she whispered.

Harm took his hands away for a moment and moved them under Mac's arms to get a better angle. Cupping one breast with his large hand, his other hand slid around her waist to stroke her flat belly.

Mac bucked up, spreading her legs wantonly. Harm's fingers dipped lower, caressing her pubic mound, making her gasp with anticipation.

"Oh. Oh, yes," she sighed, as the fingers found their way between her soft folds and began slowly teasing her most sensitive spot. When his finger slipped into her hot, velvet core, she moaned and pushed up to meet his hand. Pulling her knees up, Mac placed her feet alongside Harm’s strong thighs, allowing her legs to fall open even wider.

Harm began stroking in earnest, his thumb flicking across Mac’s swollen clit. As the pressure increased, Mac found herself spiraling quickly out of control. The warm water created a delicious balance between friction and slipperiness as Harm expertly teased the highly sensitive bundle of nerves. He added a similar assault with his left hand, rubbing and pinching one stiff nipple, and then the other.

Mac moaned and bucked up against him, hovering on the edge of release.

"Oh, Harm!" She cried out suddenly, her body going rigid as her climax hit hard and fast.

Harm continued his ministrations as Mac rode the waves of her orgasm, panting and making little mewling sounds until she finally went limp in his arms.

"I love you, Sarah," he murmured, dropping gentle kisses on the side of her neck. He could feel her still trembling, even as her breathing began to calm down. Her responsiveness and lack of inhibitions were amazing to him and he was at a loss to put into words how that made him feel.

"I love you, too," Mac said, turning her head to look up into his eyes. "So much."

Harm shifted slightly. The water was beginning to cool down and Mac was leaning heavily against his body.

"Thank you, Harm."

"For what?"

"For … you know … this."

"My pleasure," Harm said with a shy smile.

"I'd love to return the favor," Mac said in a sultry voice. She had felt him pressed against her and had found the skin-to-skin contact to be very erotic.

"Um, maybe some other time," Harm said hesitantly. He had gotten a partial erection as a reaction to Mac's arousal, but now he was no longer hard. Noticing Mac's intent gaze, he added, "I’m fine. Really."

As Mac thought back to that evening, she could only hope that Harm would allow her to reciprocate in the not too distant future. It was her fervent wish that he would desire her sexually as much as she desired him. Progress came one step at a time, however, and she would have to continue to be patient.

***

Through the month of June, Harm continued therapy and his struggle with both work and personal issues. By then, he had learned what types of situations tended to trigger anxiety reactions. He also found that having an awareness of his stress triggers did not necessarily help in preventing the occurrence of them. Harm did his best to hide the amount of near constant nervousness and anxiety that he felt, especially when dealing with people or unfamiliar situations.

Admiral Chegwidden had gradually assigned Rabb to a few cases as co-council, serving as 'second chair' to MacKenzie, Roberts, or Turner. Harm was also paired up with Barnes on a couple of investigations. After all, there was only so much research to keep Harm busy. In each case, the Admiral's senior staff had to report back to him on the Commander's performance, and on occasion he would observe courtroom proceedings. Their observations were consistent with each other. Rabb was tentative and tense in dealing with strangers. He had no confidence in his judgment or abilities and had trouble staying focused. He was not the self-assured, effective attorney that he used to be.

It was a warm, humid day near the end of June when Harm was summoned to the Admiral's office. Since Harm had no idea what the meeting was about, he approached the office with dread, as he did every time he didn't know what to expect.

Chegwidden had Rabb take a seat, noticing that he looked tense and a little pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. In fact, it was a sad realization; he had gotten so used to the man always looking worn out that it seemed normal.

"So, July is just around the corner," the Admiral stated.

Harm waited expectantly, knowing his boss would make his point.

"And you have a Fit-Rep coming up, as well as your six month medical exams." Chegwidden looked up over his reading glasses at Harm.

"Yes, sir."

"I have some news, Commander, and I wanted you to be the first to hear it."

Harm raised an eyebrow, quizzically. Now he was really worried.

"I'm going to retire," Chegwidden said, leaning back in his chair. "I've submitted the paperwork; my retirement will be effective next month. I haven't told anyone else, yet."

Well, that was the last thing Harm expected to hear. He was stunned, and wasn't sure whether he was supposed to offer congratulations or sympathy. "I – I don't know what to say, sir."

"That's okay. The reason I'm sharing this with you, now, is there's something else you need to know." He sighed and removed his glasses, before continuing. "There's no easy way to tell you this; I'm afraid you're not going to pass the upcoming Medical Review Board."

"I'm not?"

"No, Harm," the Admiral shook his head. "If it were up to me, I'd let you finish out your twenty. I know how hard you've been working to resume a normal life. You've consistently followed doctors' orders and participated in counseling. Maybe you just need more time. I really wanted to see you make it and I've used all the influence I could to keep you around. But, the fact is I can no longer protect you. Between whomever the new JAG is going to be and pressure from the SecNav, well, they are not going to keep the billet open for someone at a limited capacity, indefinitely."

"I understand, sir," Harm said, not meeting the Admiral's eyes.

"I truly am sorry," Chegwidden said sympathetically. "You could fight the Medical Board's decision. We have the resources here; pick anyone on staff you want to represent you."

"Thank you, Admiral, but that won't be necessary," Harm spoke softly. "I'm not going to fight their decision." His shoulders drooped in resigned acceptance.

"Are you sure?"

Harm nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You don't seem too shocked."

"I'm not, sir. I've actually been half expecting it. I realize they're right. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not able to perform the duties of my rank or do my job effectively, which is not fair to anybody. I had hoped for more improvement by now, but some days I wonder if I'm making any progress at all. I guess now I'll have the time to just concentrate on getting better."

"I suppose that's true," the Admiral agreed. "And that's a positive way of looking at it."

"So, what happens now?"

"Well, while you're waiting for the official notification, I'd recommend you start preparing for civilian life. I can tell you this much; your separation from the service will be for medical reasons under completely honorable conditions. You'll be eligible for disability. Once you have the paperwork from the Review Board, I advise you to file right away. Even though you have an airtight case, the VA red tape is known to take quite a while. You'll need a good Veteran Services Officer, so I took the liberty." Chegwidden picked up a business card and held it out to Harm. "This one comes highly recommended."

"Thank you, sir." Harm took the card.

"I know it's not the same as retirement pay, but at least you will have some compensation and medical care, even though it doesn't begin to make up for what you went through while serving your country. In the meantime, are you going to be all right financially?"

"Well, my home is paid for, so I think I'll be okay for a while." What the Admiral didn't know was Harm had already started reviewing his finances in preparation for this very possibility.

"Very well. You've got a week or two to prepare for your release from service. Go ahead and start wrapping up any hanging casework and organizing your files for your replacement." Chegwidden stood up and came out from behind his desk. "Just a reminder, Commander, until I make the announcement, my impending retirement is not for public knowledge."

"Of course, sir." Harm stood as well. He seemed slightly dazed by the turn of events, as the finality of it was just beginning to sink in. "Um … would it be appropriate for me to offer congratulations or wish you the best for your retirement?"

"Certainly," the Admiral smiled. "I'm looking forward to being just plain A.J. Good luck to you, Harm. Just be patient and hang in there."

The two officers clasped hands and shook firmly.

"Thank you for everything, Admiral. It's been a honor to work for you." Harm suddenly looked a bit lost, his eyes shiny with emotion.

A.J. cleared his throat. "If you ever need anything at all, you call me. Understand?"

Harm merely nodded, unable to answer.

"Carry on, Commander," the Admiral said gruffly.

Harm snapped to attention. "Aye, aye, sir!"

Standing tall, Commander Rabb executed a sharp about face and quickly exited the room.

The Judge Advocate General stared at the closed door for a few seconds, before walking back to his chair and easing into it. He then leaned back and heaved a long, sorrowful sigh.

***

When Mac arrived home that evening, she found Harm's desk cluttered with folders, files, and spreadsheets. Harm's laptop was on and a calculator lay next to it. Harm was staring intently at something on the screen, but fortunately, he had heard Mac come in.

"Hey," he said, glancing up to see her standing in the doorway to the den.

"Hey, yourself," Mac smiled. "You look very busy."

"Just getting organized. I need to know exactly where I stand, financially."

"Oh? Why is that?" Mac asked, now curious.

"I got some news today," Harm sighed. "It's over, Mac."

Mac stepped forward with a frown, clearly alarmed. "What are you telling me?"

"My career – it's finished. I'm not going to be in the Navy much longer," Harm explained.

"Oh, Harm!" Mac sounded more distressed than Harm looked. She came toward him, wondering if he would accept the comfort she wanted to give him. "I'm so sorry. What happened? Are you … all right?"

Harm gave her a slight nod. "I'm okay. I seem to be more relieved than I am upset, actually. Does that sound weird?"

"I don't know – this is so unexpected. I'm just surprised, I guess." Mac reached out to touch Harm's shoulder and he covered her hand with his.

"I'm not," he sighed. "It was only a matter of time before it was noticed that I'm still not functioning well enough to do my job. I knew deep down I wouldn't be able to hang on indefinitely. The Admiral let me know in advance about my upcoming Fit-Rep and the Medical Review Board's decision."

"Isn't there anything the Admiral can do?"

Harm shook his head. "Mac, I don't want to fight it. I agree with them; I can't do this anymore. More days than not, it's all I can do to force myself to leave home every morning and face the outside world. Right now, my fears are outweighing my need to earn a living. I hope to leave with whatever little dignity I have left. I just don't want people to think I gave up."

"Anyone of importance will understand," Mac said, squeezing Harm's shoulder.

"What worries me more is the fact that I won't be receiving any retirement benefits. If I just could've lasted until the twenty year mark, I'd at least have a pension check every month."

"But, if they're saying you're not medically fit, won't you be getting disability?"

"Eventually, but it takes time and I have no idea what amount to expect. I have to file a claim through the VA. In the meantime, I won't have any income to contribute to this household and that's not fair to you." Harm's expression as he looked up at Mac could only be described as forlorn. "That's why I've been going through all my personal files, figuring out my assets and debts."

"Well, you don't need to worry about that," Mac tried to assure him. "I can handle being the breadwinner and I don't mind. We'll be just fine. Besides, it's only temporary, right?" She leaned down to him, pressing her cheek against his.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to hold her, Harm reached out, wrapped both hands around her waist, and pulled her down onto his lap. She responded by sitting sideways to snuggle in against his chest. They stayed like that in the chair for a few minutes, as Harm drew reassurance from Mac's warm embrace.

"I am so thankful I have you in my life," he murmured against her hair.

Mac looked up and smiled. "You know, there is an upside to you not being in the Navy."

"H-m-m?" Harm raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"We won't be working together anymore."

"That's supposed to be a good thing?" Harm frowned.

"Yes, as in no longer in the same Command …"

Harm's eyes began to widen as Mac's train of thought registered in his brain.

"As in … we could … umm … get married," she finished, looking at him coyly.

"Mac, are you proposing to me?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," she grinned. "There's nothing stopping us now. Plus, it makes practical sense, too. As my spouse, you'll have medical coverage right away, and I'll get an extra dependents allowance in my pay, which would come in handy."

"I – I don't know what to say," Harm said seriously. "I don't want you to feel like you have to offer marriage out of an obligation to take care of me."

Mac's smile disappeared. "That's not the reason; I didn't mean it that way. We love each other, we've known each other for years, you're my best friend, and we're already living together. I'm ready to take the next step. Are you saying you're not?" Mac sounded a little hurt and confused.

"It's not that; I'm just afraid that down the road you'll feel like you're stuck with me … a less than whole man," Harm said sadly.

"I love you, Harm, with all my heart," Mac stated firmly. "You're all that I'll ever want. I am in this for the long haul and I can't imagine not always having you in my life."

"Okay, then, if you're sure, because I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. However, I had always imagined that I'd be the one doing the asking."

"So, ask," Mac smirked.

"Well, all right, then." Harm cleared his throat, dramatically. "Sarah … so, are we gonna get married, or what?"

He couldn't keep a straight face any longer and Mac caught his expression. He was beaming with pure joy.

She threw her arms around Harm's neck, laughing. "Yes, yes!"

***

The first couple of weeks in July went by pretty much the way Harm expected them to go. Even though he knew what was coming, the prior knowledge only slightly lessened the sting of being given his walking papers. He kept himself busy preparing for civilian life, but tried not to dwell on the ramifications too much. Harm spent so little time at Headquarters that, by the time his last day arrived, he managed to slip out unnoticed. No one other than Mac and the Admiral had known ahead of time, as Harm did not want any fuss made over him, under the circumstances.

When the JAG personnel were officially informed that Commander Rabb was gone, they also learned that Chegwidden would be retiring at the end of the month. The second piece of news was more surprising than the first, and everyone was rather preoccupied with speculations about who the new JAG would be. The Admiral was going to have a traditional "Dining Out" ceremony in honor of his retirement from the Navy and the entire staff was expected to attend.

Mac and Harm held off on announcing their plans to get married, for the time being.

One of the first things Harm needed to take care of was to set up an appointment with the Veterans Service Officer. Upon meeting the younger man, Harm found him to be pleasant, professional and encouraging. They discussed the general claim process and a basic overview of Harm's situation. The VSO would fill out the forms and submit Harm's paperwork personally.

Harm had had the forethought to make personal copies of his active duty medical records. The VSO would sort through them and he told Harm to expect to be contacted for an appointment with a VA psychiatrist for what was known as a Compensation and Pension Exam. He also explained the importance of submitting a PTSD Stressor Letter. Harm learned it was basically a personal, detailed account, written in the veteran's own words, that outlined the trauma or stressors that caused the PTSD, the symptoms suffered, and the ongoing aftereffects on his life since. The more detailed, the better, even though it might be the most difficult document Harm would ever have to write.

Every day for over a week, Harm spent time on little else. When he wasn't actively working on the letter itself, he was researching PTSD, VA sites, and stressor letter tips on the Internet. The hours he spent just trying to organize his thoughts brought up numerous painful memories. Even though some of the memories had begun to blur together, he couldn't get the images out of his mind, making it very difficult to concentrate.

Mac wisely left him alone to do what he needed to do, after he had made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. She let him know that, if he needed anything, she was there for him.

Finally, after much rewriting and editing, Harm had nearly eight full typed pages printed out from his computer. He didn't leave anything out. Reading the graphic details of his experiences would make anyone squirm, but he hoped that he successfully conveyed how the ordeal had affected him, both physically and psychologically, and continued to do so.

At the next meeting with Harm's Veterans Service Officer, the young man put the entire application package together, including copies of the stressor letter, to be sent off to the regional office of the Veterans Benefits Administration.

"It's not a matter of if, just a matter of when," the VSO assured Harm, in reference to Harm's disability claim being approved. There was more than enough medical evidence for a very strong case. He also advised Harm to file for disability from the Social Security Administration, because he could be entitled to receive benefits from both government organizations concurrently. Harm realized that, since he wasn't able to earn a living, every little bit would help.

That evening, when Mac came home to the loft, Harm sat down with her and explained what he had been working on and the process of filing for compensation with the VA.

"What happens now?" asked Mac.

"Now, we wait," Harm replied.

"It must have been really difficult for you to write it all down."

"It was, but it was necessary. In a way, it was good to do it." Mac looked puzzled, so Harm continued. "It was easier than saying it out loud. I still can't talk about the details, face to face, with anyone, not my psychiatrist, not even you. I've been keeping a journal as part of my therapy anyway, so I used that as a starting point." Harm's shoulders slumped. "That reminds me; I've got to find all new, civilian doctors. My treatment at Bethesda is over. Maybe, I can wait until I can register at a VA hospital."

"Do you think you should go without treatment for that long?" Mac voiced her concern.

"I can manage at least until I'm covered as your dependent. Besides, I'd hate to start all over with different doctors and therapists twice. Once will be hard enough to get used to," Harm shrugged. "Hey, maybe I can just hand over a copy of my letter, so they'll have my personal history without my having to tell them any of the gory details."

"Might be easier for you," Mac noted.

"Yeah, it sure would."

"Harm?" Mac asked softly. "Would you consider allowing me to read it?"

He looked at her with surprise and a hint of fear in his eyes. There was a long pause of silence as he considered her request.

"I didn't know if you'd want to."

"I don't, really, but I think I should. I need to understand."

"Are you sure?"

At Mac's nod, Harm stood up. "All right, then." He walked into the den, retrieved the document from a file in the desk drawer, and returned to the living room. He handed her the typed pages and, without another word, left the room.

Though it seemed much longer, it was a short time later that Mac went and found Harm standing at the bedroom window, gazing out over the street down below. The impact of what she had read left her both horrified and deeply saddened, as she knew it would. There was a big difference between thinking she knew what had happened to him and really knowing everything he suffered as told in his own words. Even though this terrible knowledge gave her a better understanding of his emotional state, of how badly he was affected, she still had no idea how he was able to deal with the memories of all those perverse violations that were done to his body and soul.

Mac crossed the room and stood next to Harm with tears in her eyes, wishing she knew what to say to him. He turned toward her, unable to speak, and simply pulled her into his arms. They held each other tightly, silently, until Mac was finally able to break the silence.

"I can't even imagine how awful it was for you." Mac's words were muffled, as she said them against Harm's chest.

"Still is," he answered, his voice cracking.

Mac clung to Harm even harder, frightened by the realization that this broken man might never be whole again. She didn't know what to do to help him, only that she would try her best and would always be there for him.

***

Clayton Webb was at home, sprawled on his sofa, proceeding to get drunk. The past several weeks had been particularly lousy and he was feeling more and more burnt out. He had been drinking every night that he hadn't been out of town on a mission. It was getting to be a habit in an attempt to drown out the horrific images burned into his brain every time he closed his eyes. It had taken him weeks to get through all the videotapes that Kent Williams had made of Rabb. The footage was so disturbing that Webb couldn't bear to watch more than short segments at a stretch. In his attempt to discover the identity of the other two perpetrators, he had witnessed how Williams systematically used torture and brainwashing to turn Harm into his unwilling sex slave. Even worse, Webb's efforts had been for nothing; despite hours of video of the basement prison, it wasn't raw footage. Williams had carefully edited the tapes, keeping only the parts with just Harm and himself. He had intentionally eliminated any footage that would have shown his cohorts on camera, in order to protect their identities.

Finally, upon completion of his agonizing, distasteful assignment, Webb had called Special Agent DiNozzo to give him the discouraging news. Since the tapes were useless, they agreed that Webb would destroy them. NCIS would be adding this case to their unsolved files, as it was unlikely that these two criminals would ever be identified or found.

Webb was beyond frustrated that they had gotten away with their crimes scot-free. Knowing the victim this time made it even worse. He knew he had to be the one to inform Rabb that these men were not going to be brought to justice. Webb intended to spend the rest of the evening drinking until he either figured out how he was going to tell Rabb, or he passed out, whichever came first.

***

Realizing he didn't have a choice, Harm began to settle into the reality of being unemployed. Not knowing how long it would take to start receiving his disability benefits was the worst part about not having any income coming in. He was now financially dependent on Mac, so he didn't waste any time preparing for the wait as well as he could. He knew he could cut back on expenses in several areas and live more efficiently. Harm also had a way to get his hands on some cash.

When Mac arrived home one day, she was stunned to find out that Harm had sold his restored classic Corvette and his Indian motorcycle. Fortunately, he had not yet been able to sell his beloved Stearman, to Mac's relief. Certain that Harm would regret it if he did, she managed to convince him that it wasn't necessary to sell the vintage airplane, that he should hold on to it.

Harm decided that if he couldn't work, he would keep busy in other ways. Since he was always home, while Mac was working so hard, he was determined to take care of everything else. He set a schedule for himself; cleaning, doing laundry, ironing, dropping off and picking up the dry cleaning, buying groceries, cooking, fixing things around the loft, and any other odd jobs that needed doing. The rest of the time he spent on the Internet, reading and continuing research on PTSD and visiting various on-line support groups.

With each passing day, Harm became more isolated and moody. He avoided leaving the safety and security of home, going out only when absolutely necessary and only during daylight hours. Every errand made him anxious, and he completed his business as quickly as possible, always hyper-alert to his surroundings.

Harm's moods alternated between feeling useless and guilty for his inability to make a productive living, and being impatient with himself for not coping as well as he thought he should. Mac noticed that he seemed even more subdued and distracted than usual, but said nothing, knowing he would get defensive if she did. She realized that Harm needed to get back into a regular therapy schedule as soon as possible.

***

At the end of the month, Admiral Chegwidden officially retired from the United States Navy. The Dining-Out had been an elegant evening at the Officers Club, full of Navy tradition, with all of the military personnel in Dinner Dress uniforms. Near the close of the festivities, he slipped into the hallway outside of the ballroom and looked back one last time at the group of men and women socializing and enjoying themselves. Music was playing and there was dancing, talking, smiles and laughter. He gazed fondly at the staff members who had served with him, all people who he was proud to have known. Harriet and Bud Roberts were dancing, Petty Officer Coates, all smiles, was sitting at one of the tables, and Commander Turner was standing with a few people, deep in conversation. Searching the room, A.J.'s eyes finally landed on Colonel MacKenzie and Harmon Rabb. They were off to the side of the crowd, Mac with a soft smile, looking up at Harm, who appeared stiff and uncomfortable in his dark gray suit. It had not escaped the Admiral's notice that Harm had stuck like glue to Mac's side all evening, subdued and reserved in manner, with a slight 'deer-caught-in-the-headlights' expression in his eyes.

Mac had confided in A.J. a few days prior and he was pleased to learn that she and Harm, now that he was a civilian, were making wedding plans. Unfortunately, A.J. would be out of the country by that time, visiting his daughter in Italy. He felt a bit relieved to know that Harm would not be alone, that he was in good hands, and he had confidence that they would take care of each other.

With a sigh, A.J. Chegwidden turned and picked up his cover from the table. He slipped quietly out through a side door and into the night, to begin his new life in retirement.

***

A few days later, there was a knock at the door. Harm shuffled over to the security panel to see Clayton Webb's face on the screen.

"Hey, Webb, this is a surprise," he said, as he swung the door to the loft open.

Webb stared at Harm for a few seconds before responding, taking in the man's disheveled, sloppy appearance. Harm was wearing a loose, white, cotton tank top and old, baggy running shorts. His feet were bare and the shadow of beard on his face was at least twenty four hours old. "It's the middle of the day, Rabb. Did I get you out of bed or something?"

"No, I've been up for a while," Harm shrugged, looking perplexed by the spy's unexpected visit. "What brings you by?" He moved aside to let Webb enter the living room.

"Thought I'd check and see how you're doing," he explained, loosening his tie. It was a hot, humid August day, yet he was attired in a conservative suit, as usual. He glanced around and noticed that the room was slightly dark, as all of the windows were covered to keep out the heat of direct sunlight.

"H-m-m," Harm grunted. "Must be a slow day at the office."

"You have no idea," Clay said, as he lowered himself into an easy chair with a sigh.

Harm watched him wipe his forehead with a handkerchief. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Just some water would be great."

"Ice?"

"Nah, a bottle is fine."

Harm retrieved two bottled waters from the fridge, handed one to Webb, and then sat on the sofa. Webb gulped some water and watched Harm fidget, running his hand through hair that was sticking up in all directions, and rubbing at his scratchy jaw.

"So … how are you doing?"

"Well, I'm alive," Harm snorted. "I go back and forth between feeling anxious and feeling lethargic. I'm just having one of my low energy days today." He looked around at the clutter in the normally tidy apartment, as if that explained everything.

Webb studied Harm's expression. "How does it feel, being a civilian again?"

"It's different than last time. After everything that happened in Paraguay, I was pretty pissed off that the Admiral wouldn't take me back. It was really weird not having a job to go to and, frankly, I felt kind of lost. Now, the only thing I miss is the paycheck. I'm relieved to be free from the pressure and responsibilities, but at the same time, I hate being so useless and dependent. I actually feel guilty for being disabled."

"You have nothing to feel guilty for," Webb said, emphatically.

"So everyone keeps telling me. Maybe someday I'll believe it."

Webb nodded in agreement and seemed deep in thought. After the stretch of silence became noticeable, Harm spoke up.

"So, why are you really here in the middle of the day? Things are never that slow at The Company."

"Nothing gets by you, does it, Rabb?" Webb groused, sarcastically. Harm quirked an eyebrow up at him and waited. "Okay, okay. I … uh … I've been told to take some time off. Department shrink says I'm suffering from job burn-out."

"Oh." Now, Harm looked outright shocked. "What does that mean?"

"It means I've been pulled out of the field and put on administrative leave until they decide whether or not to make it permanent. In the interim, I have to get professional help. It seems they don't believe drinking to be an acceptable method for coping with stress." Webb rolled his eyes.

"Are you saying they could fire you?"

"Best case scenario; I'll be kept on in a consulting capacity, chained to a desk or maybe a classroom. Worst case; I could be joining you in the ranks of the unemployed. Either way, as a field agent, I'm done."

"Wow. I'm sorry to hear that," Harm shook his head, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be. Maybe I should just take the early retirement. I'm damn tired, Harm."

"I can certainly understand that," Harm nodded. "But, if you have the choice, why not see how things go and wait until your forced vacation ends before you decide?"

"Good point," Clay agreed, leaning forward in the chair. "Anyway, it was not my intention to bore you with my problems. I had another reason for coming to see you."

"Oh?" Harm looked uncomfortable. He had a pretty good idea where the conversation was heading.

"Look, there's no easy way to get into this with you, so …"

"It's about the video tapes, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Webb confirmed.

"So … you saw everything, then." Harm lowered his gaze, unable to meet Clay's eyes, as a feeling of shame washed over him, making him shudder.

"Not everything. Apparently, what was found had been heavily edited to eliminate any footage that would have shown the other two perps. So, unfortunately, the video was of no help in identifying them. There's nothing more I can do." Webb paused. "Rest assured; I've already destroyed all the tapes."

Harm gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, but was unable to say anything.

"I really am sorry, Harm," Webb said sincerely. "This probably won't help any, but I just want you to know one other thing; I muted the audio, I didn't listen to any of it. All I did was look for those two guys." He received another short nod from Harm, as well as a quick glance in his direction, but still no words. "It's all right. We don't have to speak of this ever again."

"I … uh … appreciate that," Harm said very quietly, trying to cover his face with his hand. The thought of how much Webb had seen made him feel ill. All he wanted was to try to forget, not that he ever could.

"I should get going," Webb stated, as he stood up. "I'll let myself out."

Harm looked over and made a feeble attempt at a weak smile, determined not to lose it in front of his friend. "Um … Thanks for checking up on me."

"No problem. Keep in touch, okay?"

"Yeah, you do the same, Webb."

After the CIA officer left, Harm didn't move for a very long time, trying in vain to squelch the many thoughts racing through his frazzled mind.

***

Mac came home one evening in a foul mood. When Harm asked her what was wrong, he got an earful. The atmosphere at Headquarters had been full of tension since Chegwidden's retirement. While waiting for confirmation of the next JAG, Commander Turner had been appointed as Acting JAG in the interim. Mac had been disappointed at not being given the opportunity, but hid her feelings as well as she could. However, the position of power had apparently gone to Turner's head.

"O-o-o-h, Turner is so inflexible and arrogant; I can't believe what an infuriating jerk he's being," Mac said, pacing as she finished her tirade.

Harm hadn't said much, allowing her to vent her frustrations, even though he was a little bit surprised by Turner's behavior.

"Just be glad you don't have to put up with him," Mac sighed, not realizing how it sounded until she turned and caught the expression on Harm's face.

"Well, I don't know if *glad* would be the right word …"

"That didn't come out right. I'm sorry," Mac said contritely.

"It's all right. Don't worry about it." Harm brushed the comment off quickly, knowing Mac was just as aware as he was that if he had never been abducted, he'd still be in the Navy with a flourishing career. Would he have been chosen instead of Commander Turner? All they could do was wonder about the possibility, another 'what if' that Harm would never know.

***

When Harm realized he was running low on his medications, he had no choice but to call the VA Medical Center. He explained his situation and was told to come in with his discharge documents and register so that he could be assigned a primary care doctor and get set up with an appointment. He would not be able to renew a prescription without one. Upon arrival, he had to fill out a bunch of paperwork. The earliest available appointment would not be for three weeks. Harm knew he would run out of Paxil in approximately two weeks. Rather than argue the point, he remained silent, assuming he could survive for a few days without it. He would also need to see about getting back into therapy, but that could be addressed at his initial appointment. For now at least, he was in the system, and all he could do was wait.

Just a couple of days before Harm's VA appointment, Mac had begun to notice a distinct increase in his irritability and moodiness. It hadn't been too bad during the week, as she wasn't around him all day, but over the weekend it was obvious that Harm was worse than he had been in quite some time. He was grumpy and argumentative and, after snapping at Mac several times when she tried to converse with him, she was walking around on eggshells. Every little thing seemed to set him off. She observed how restless he was; he kept getting up, pacing, and just could not settle down. He muttered and swore under his breath whenever he tried to do anything. By Sunday evening, Mac had had enough of Harm's surly mood.

Harm was in the kitchen when Mac heard a loud clunk followed by colorful cursing. She jumped up and ran over to him. He had dropped the jar he was trying to open and the contents were spilled all over the counter.

"Damn it!"

Fortunately, the jar didn't break, but Harm was beyond agitated.

"It's okay, I'll clean it up," Mac offered calmly.

"No, it's not okay!" Harm bellowed. That was when Mac saw his hands were shaking.

"Come on, Harm, what's wrong? You've been literally bouncing off the walls all day." At this point, even Mac's patience was beginning to wear thin. She reached for his hands, but he pulled away from her and shook his head.

"Just leave it alone," he said sullenly.

Mac opened her mouth to protest, but caught herself and let it go. "Fine," she bit out through clenched teeth, turning away to deal with the mess on the counter.

"Don't. You don't have to clean up after me. I can do it myself."

Mac glanced over to see Harm's hands were still shaking. "I think it would be best if you leave this to me and go calm down or something."

Harm hung his head and left the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Mac found him in the bedroom. He was just sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over. Harm looked up as soon as he heard Mac come in and nervously ran his shaky hand through his hair. Mac could see he was still jittery and she sat down next to him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Harm, talk to me. Please," Mac said gently. "What's going on?"

"I" … Harm took a deep breath before the words began to tumble out. "I don't feel right, feel like I'm losing my mind, like I could flip out at any moment, can't control my reactions or the way I'm feeling or anything, and that's freaking me out a little; been feeling lousy for the past few days, but I didn't think it would get this bad. I can't … think; my thoughts are all over the place; I'm climbing the walls."

Mac frowned, noticing that his speech was rapid and disjointed. "What do you mean by you didn't think it would get this bad?"

"Well … I … uh … ran out of my anti-depressant," Harm said guiltily, unable to look Mac in the eyes.

"When?"

"Almost a week ago."

"Oh. That can't be good." Mac was now alarmed. "How did that happen?"

"I couldn't get any more refills without seeing a doctor, so I called the VA and got the earliest appointment they could give me. Besides, I didn't think there would be a problem; I had been told Paxil isn't addictive; so why do I feel like I'm going through withdrawal?"

"I don't know, Harm," Mac sighed. "When is your appointment?"

"Tomorrow."

"Well, thank goodness for that. You just have to hold on for a bit longer." Mac rubbed Harm's shoulder soothingly. "What about your other medication? Any left?"

"Yeah, the anti-anxiety drug is only as needed because it is addictive, so I try not to take it every day. Guess I'll have to take one tonight, though, or I'll never wind down and sleep. Damn, I really hate being dependent on all this stuff," Harm said, clearly frustrated.

At Harm's appointment the next morning, his new doctor reiterated how important it was to not suddenly stop taking SSRI type anti-depressants, as they tended to have a rebound effect. He explained that he hoped to eventually wean Harm off the Paxil though very gradually. Harm assured him that he had no intention of letting himself run out of his meds, and it would not happen again, if at all possible.

From there, Harm took his new prescriptions directly to the very busy pharmacy and waited for over two hours for them to be filled. By the time he finally got back home, it was afternoon and he was mentally exhausted.

***

In September, Harm and Mac were married by a judge at the Superior Court of the District of Columbia. They had a simple civil ceremony, as neither of them wanted to go through the formal traditions and regulations of a military wedding. Mac, wearing a lovely ivory colored dress, was glowing, while Harm, though handsome in his suit, looked nervous. Bud and Harriet were the only attendees, serving as their witnesses. Afterwards, the four of them celebrated with dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. Mac had managed to get a few days of leave and she didn't have to report back to JAG Headquarters until the following Monday. Harriet and Bud had promised Mac to keep the wedding plans a secret, because she wanted to wait until after the fact to announce her new marital status to the staff.

"Well, it's official," said Harm as they entered the loft, arm in arm. "You are now Mrs. Harmon Rabb. How does it feel?"

Mac turned and threw herself into his arms. "Wonderful! And Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Rabb has a nice ring to it, too. Don't you think?"

"I like the sound of that," Harm grinned.

"I like it, too, and I love you, Harm." Mac gazed up at him, her eyes shining. "I'm glad we didn't wait any longer."

"I hope you'll still feel that way in the morning," Harm sounded a little uncertain.

"Nothing will change how I feel about you, I promise, no matter what happens."

"Or what doesn't happen," he added.

Since their initial discussion about applying for a marriage license and setting a date, Harm had been apprehensive about the wedding night. They had not been in agreement; Harm wanted to wait until they could properly consummate their marriage. He was concerned about the fact that the year wasn't up yet for his final HIV test. He wouldn't breathe easy until he was completely in the clear. Mac calmly reminded Harm that they could still have sex safely if they used condoms and she assured him that she had no qualms about doing so. Harm's other fear was a bit more difficult to assuage. He was too flustered and embarrassed to even admit to Mac his lack of confidence in his ability to perform when the time came. Over the past several months, they had been intimate on a few occasions, but had yet to complete actual intercourse. Even though Mac was always patient and understanding, Harm's performance anxiety increased every time he had difficulty maintaining an erection.

Now, the time had come. Harm was determined to do his best to satisfy his new wife, and he just hoped that he wouldn't disappoint her.

"I love you, Sarah," he said, bending down to capture her lips in a fervent kiss. They pressed close together, arms wrapped tightly around the other. When they came up for air, Mac stepped back, flushed with anticipation. No words were needed as she took Harm's hand and led him to their bedroom.

While Mac lit a couple of candles and turned off the lamp, Harm quickly stripped down to his boxers. He came up behind her and lowered the zipper of her dress down her back. She turned to face him, as she slipped the garment off of her shoulders and let it fall to puddle around her feet. Smiling coyly, Mac stood in front of Harm wearing her most sexy lingerie. She was well aware that she needed to keep her new husband in the moment and focused on her, and she planned to do just that.

Harm stared at his exotically beautiful wife appreciatively, admiring how hot she looked. Then, suddenly, he pulled her to him and maneuvered them both over to the bed, where he gently lowered her on to it and followed her down.

Hands and lips began to move everywhere they could touch and they stripped each other of their remaining articles of clothing. Having had some practice at exploring and learning each other's bodies for a few months, they fell into an easy, familiar path to arousal that was slowly building to a crescendo. Mac usually instigated their intimate play, and often had to coax Harm into it. However, she was careful not to take charge, allowing Harm to set the pace.

The kissing and stroking became more passionate. It took a while, but Harm was finally hard enough for a condom. After a bit of fumbling, instinct took over as he eased himself into her velvet heat at an agonizingly slow pace. Mac gasped and writhed underneath him, wet and more than ready to take his impressive cock.

"Harm, I'm not made of glass. I won't break!" she said impatiently, wrapping her legs around his torso and pulling him deeper into her body.

"I don't want to hurt you. I'd never forgive myself." He was flushed and hesitant.

"You won't, so stop worrying." She smiled up at him as she clenched around his dick. "Now, please, I need you," she whined and met his lips for yet another searing kiss.   
Harm began to move, rolling his hips slowly at first. As he thrust, Mac undulated against his body, matching his rhythm flawlessly. When Harm broke away from their lip-lock, Mac opened her eyes to see a strange expression pass over his face. As his rhythm faltered, she could feel him deflate a bit and she knew it was one of his bad memories that had distracted him. He started to drop his head to rest against her shoulder, so she cupped his face with her hands to bring his focus back to the here and now, back to her. She held his gaze and murmured encouragements, interspersed with breathy little moans.

"Feels so good, love you so much," she whispered, moistening her lips with her tongue, as Harm stared at her mouth. He tried to catch her tongue with his lips, covering her mouth with his. She felt his dick twitch inside her and she smiled against his mouth. Taking her hands off his face, she wrapped her arms around him and held him even tighter. He thrust into her moist heat, feeling her gripping his cock as it swelled inside her.

After a few minutes, Harm picked up the pace and strength of his thrusts, which had Mac chanting "Yes, yes," in between moaning and kissing him. Harm was always in awe of Mac's uninhibited pleasure and arousal. It was a heady turn-on for him, seeing her splayed out and open in front of him like that, knowing he could make her come in any number of ways. He bent down to take a nipple into his mouth, tonguing and sucking it and she gasped and arched up from the jolt of pleasure.

"I'm close," she announced, breathlessly. Harm moved his oral assault to her other nipple as he pumped harder into her slick, wet heat. They were both panting now and Harm grunted with the effort of maintaining his rhythm.

"Oh-god, Harm, I need … I need … more," she panted.

Harm slid his hand between their bodies, fingers deftly searching out her magic spot, pressing and rubbing just so. Quickly, she reached the pinnacle of ecstasy. Arching up and throwing her head back, she loudly let out a high-pitched yell. Harm went still, fascinated by watching her shudder and feeling the pulsing waves of her orgasm around his cock. He continued to stroke her through the aftershocks until she opened her eyes. Flushed and giddy, she gave Harm a huge smile and leaned up to kiss his neck, right under his jaw.

"You are so gorgeous like this," Harm spoke softly. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"As much as I love you?"

"More."

"Okay," Mac giggled, as she reached around him and grabbed his butt-cheeks, pulling him deeper into her still slick, hot sheath.

Harm's eyes widened with surprise at the tightness around his dick as she squeezed. Leaning up, she huffed against his lips with laughter, as she kissed him deeply. He let out a low growl, rocking against her, thrusting in her silky grip.

Mac crossed her ankles at the small of Harm's back, getting leverage and a better angle for Harm to pump harder and deeper. After several minutes, she started to feel a little sore, but Harm was still chasing his elusive orgasm, so she hung on.

Aching and frustrated that he couldn't quite reach climax, Harm suddenly stopped moving, breathing heavily against Mac's neck. "Damn meds," he muttered into her ear.

"Hey," Mac smoothed her fingers over his jaw. "Let's take a breather, just relax a bit."

Harm let out a deep sigh and nodded. Feeling his dick softening, he fretted about the possibility of slipping out of her and losing the condom. His face colored in embarrassment as he suddenly reached down and grabbed the base of his prick, holding the condom in place while he slid out.

"Sorry," he whispered, as he rolled off of her, removing the condom. After he disposed of it, he laid back down next to her.

"Don't be." Not ready to give up yet, Mac turned to face him. She lightly ran her fingers through his chest hair, as she pressed the full length of her body against his. Then, reaching out to the nightstand, she rummaged in the drawer until she found what she hoped would do the trick; a small bottle of massage oil that warmed on contact. She poured some into her hand and began to gently stroke his cock back to an erect state. As the oil heated and became more slippery, Mac's grip tightened to a firm stroke for several minutes until Harm was pushing back into her fist. She could feel his breaths quickening where he had nuzzled against her neck and she stretched up to run her tongue over and around his nipple, before she sucked the little nub into her mouth.

Harm's breath hitched, his dick throbbing, the sensations building. When Mac added a twisting motion, dragging her thumb across the sensitive head and around the crown repeatedly, he gasped. He was almost there and Mac could sense it as well, squeezing harder. Finally, he tipped over the edge, hips jerking helplessly while he released a long, low groan. He shot several spurts of come, which landed on Mac's stomach and over her hand. She kept him in hand, slowing and gentling her strokes, as she brought him through the aftershocks of his climax.

Harm rolled onto his back and caught his breath, as Mac snagged a few tissues and carefully cleaned them both up. Neither one of them wanted to get up just yet, but Harm immediately grabbed the sheet to cover up before pulling Mac against his side and holding her tightly.

Mac said nothing, just smiled to herself. She found it endearing how Harm always got all shy and quiet afterwards. She was simply happy that she was able to help him let go, knowing it wasn't easy for him. No words were necessary.

***

 

Harm had been notified to report to the VA Medical Center for his Compensation and Pension Exams. Once that was done and submitted, it became a matter of waiting for his case to be heard. It all depended on how much of a backlog there was. It could be months before a rating decision would be made by the Review Board. Now that Mac's marital status had changed, she was receiving an extra allowance in her pay, which helped.

Harm had become accustomed to living a quiet life and keeping it as simple as he possibly could. Other than his weekly therapy appointments, he didn't venture out much, unless he had to. For the time being, he tried to be content with keeping the household organized and keeping occupied so that he didn't constantly feel guilty and useless. When he had finished the daily chores, he would do research online, read, play guitar, or listen to music. He had taken his interest in cooking to new levels, creatively experimenting and trying new recipes. He had been steadily gaining back the weight he had lost, another side-effect of the Paxil. After being alone all day, Harm really looked forward to when Mac came home from work. The frequency of his panic attacks decreased, as long as he didn't get into any uncomfortable situations to set them off.

Harm turned forty one in October. Near the end of the month, the Senate finally confirmed the appointment of the new JAG, Major General Gordon Cresswell. When the General and his wife hosted a social event to get to know the staff members, Mac really wanted Harm to go with her. Although he knew he would feel uncomfortable, he relented and agreed to go.

When they arrived at the General's home, the party was already in full swing. Several familiar faces were there and they seemed surprised, though delighted, to see Harm accompanying Mac. Greetings were exuberant and the General's boisterous voice could be heard across the room. Mac brought Harm over to him and made introductions.

Harm shook Cresswell's hand and said "It's a privilege to meet you, General."

The wiry Marine's feisty, larger than life personality more than made up for his short stature. He leaned back and peered up at Harm, who loomed over him.

"Well, shoot, I have heard a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope," Harm said uncertainly.

"Your reputation around here is legendary. I only wish I'd had the opportunity to work with you and witness you in action first hand. Now that I've met you in person, I have got to ask you one question," he said, his focused gaze taking in Harm's impressive height.

"How in the hell did you even fit into the cockpit of an F-14?"

"Ah, very carefully, sir," Harm chuckled sheepishly.

Cresswell beamed at Harm's good humor. "I would like to hear some stories of your escapades later. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Food and drink is right over this way."

After nearly three hours of socializing, eating and drinking, the party began to wind down. Mac and Harm had each been nursing a ginger ale, and though Harm's nerves had settled, he was relieved to get back home. It hadn't been as bad as he had feared; sometimes the dread and anxiety beforehand was worse than the actual event. Knowing that still didn't keep him from feeling apprehensive. It was one of the issues that Harm continued to work on in therapy.

November rolled around, which meant it was coming up to the one year anniversary since Harm had been abducted. Mac could see that the winter holidays were going to be rough for Harm. He was more distracted and irritable than usual. Every little thing tended to trigger his anxiety, plus he had been sleeping badly, and seemed to be a bit depressed. His psychiatrist increased Harm's meds temporarily. They managed to get through Thanksgiving and Harm realized he had a lot to be thankful for. He had survived, had a safe and secure home, and he was getting regular medical care. He felt fortunate to have someone as smart, strong, and beautiful as Mac, who was patient and caring, and who loved him, in his life. That alone made facing each day much easier.

A large, thick envelope arrived in the mail the following week. Harm opened it quickly and pulled out several pages of documents and scanned the cover letter first. It was from the Department of Veterans Affairs Rating Board, certifying that 'the records of the above-named honorably discharged veteran of the Armed Forces of the United States show that he/she is permanently and totally disabled due to service connected disability or disabilities.' When Harm read those words, he had to sit down. The waiting was over. There were several pages of information detailing the Rating Decision, such as evidence and reasons, which he read thoroughly. The bottom line was that the evaluation of service-connected Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was rated at seventy per cent disabling. He would be paid at the one hundred per cent rating for Individual Unemployability due solely to the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He was granted IU because the evidence proved a total service-connected disability, permanent in nature. Another page outlined the monetary aspects of his status. His monthly compensation would be $2,429 and the claim was backdated to the day after he was released from service, so he would also be receiving a lump sum check for the retroactive amount.

Harm had mixed emotions about all of this. He was almost giddy with relief, but at the same time, he wished he had never been put into these circumstances. There was no way he could wait several more hours for Mac to come home. He called her at work, hoping she was reachable. Luckily, Mac was in her office and when she answered her phone, he told her the news.

After Harm hung up, he released a deep breath. At least now he would be contributing a share to their marriage and household. Although the amount was less than the retirement he would have received at the twenty year mark, it was nontaxable, so it wasn't too bad. They were going to manage just fine.

***

"Not a day goes by that I don't, at some point, remember why I'm here. Sometimes, I can get distracted or absorbed in something and actually go for a few whole hours without thinking about what happened or my PTSD."

Harm was in the middle of a session with his therapist, a staff psychologist on the Trauma Services Team at the Washington DC VA Medical Center. Once the disability rating had come through in December, he had been enrolled as a category one veteran. The location was convenient. Since he lived north of Union Station, it was a short and easy trip.

"You're still processing," Doctor Ellie Holtman replied. She was petite woman with a cheery disposition and a smile to match. "You have been making good progress with the coping skills side of therapy."

"I'm managing, I guess," Harm confirmed.

"By managing, you mean controlling your symptoms?"

Harm nodded.

"But, you're still bothered by intrusive thoughts."

Harm nodded again. "Fairly regularly. My concentration is terrible. I get so preoccupied and my mind keeps drifting."

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"No, I still have nightmares. They don't freak me out as much as they used to, but I never sleep that well."

"Well, fatigue can certainly contribute to poor concentration, also, as well as memory loss." She paused for a moment. "At our last meeting, we talked about the holidays being a particularly difficult time to get through. How are you feeling now that they're over?"

"Not as bad as I felt last month," Harm shrugged. "It's hard to believe a whole year has passed since … well, you know ..."

"As you know, anniversary dates of a trauma can trigger intense emotional reactions and holidays tend to be a difficult time for some people. What affected you the most, specific dates or the season in general?"

"Both."

Dr. Holtman raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if Harm would explain further.

"I spent half of November and the entire month of December in captivity and I was … was set free on New Year's Day, two thousand four," Harm frowned. "But you already know that. You have my written account."

"Yes, Harm, I've read your personal testimony as well as the medical records," Ellie said calmly. "I understand how hard it is for you to talk about it, but it's an important part of the healing process, not just the coping skills. I've spent our earlier sessions getting to know you, so I haven't pushed it too much. You have some work ahead of you, but I promise we'll take however long you need, all right?"

"Okay," Harm's voice was tinged with uncertainty.

"I know you've been going to the PTSD group regularly and I want you to continue that. However, I do feel that you are stabilized enough that I'd like to see you every two weeks instead of weekly. We'll see how it goes, shall we?"

Harm nodded. It sounded like good news to him, not that he was busy with other commitments outside of the VA appointments. The only schedule he kept was the one he'd constructed for himself. He had been doing his best to be cooperative. After all, he was receiving medical benefits and compensation from the VA. Everyone he had met, so far, was courteous and helpful.

Things could be worse. Harm was hopeful that this year would be better than the past fourteen months had been.

***

END OF CHAPTER 5

TBC in CHAPTER 6 – EPILOGUE: A NEW LIFE

******************************************


	8. Epilogue:  A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of Harmon Rabb's life after the US Navy.  
> PAIRING: Harm/Mac  
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Many thanks to Bobbie T. for continuing the awesome Beta work, catching the things that I missed, and for the encouragement.  
> FEEDBACK: Oh, yes, the good, the bad, the ugly. I want it all!  
> AUTHOR NOTES: at the end.

*********************************

 

CHAPTER 6 - EPILOGUE: A NEW LIFE

*Who can say  
where the road goes  
where the day flows  
only time*

***

In the spring of 2005, Mac received PCS orders to head up the JAG office in San Diego. She was actually looking forward to the change of duty station and new job. The JAG Headquarters was just not the same without Harm, whether working as partners or opposing counsel. A new Lieutenant by the name of Vukovic had transferred in. He was arrogant, obnoxious, and the bane of her existence. Mac would miss Harriett and Bud, but not DC itself.

Harm, also, was thinking optimistically about a change of climate and new scenery. He wouldn't mind leaving the city that now had such painful memories associated with it. As far as cold winters with icy roads went, he was pretty sure he wouldn't miss that, either.

They packed up their household to move across the country. Mac went on ahead and checked in at Naval Base San Diego, first to get on the waiting list for officer base housing and then to procure temporary living arrangements. Harm stayed behind to put the loft-style apartment up for sale and wait for the moving company to pick up their shipment. It didn't take long to get the place sold; the timing was good and they walked away with a tidy sum, which they promptly invested. When Harm finally arrived, he immediately registered with the VA San Diego Healthcare System.

It took two and a half years for Harm to finally win his disability case at the Social Security Administration. Despite the medical evidence submitted by the VA, his claim had been repeatedly denied. He learned that the only way to win was to hire an attorney to represent his interests at an Administrative Law Hearing which, under the circumstances, really irked him. When the claim was finally approved, the Social Security lawyer took twenty five per cent of the initial award. At least Harm started getting a monthly disability check, which supplemented his VA compensation.

Harm eventually had plastic surgery done on the burn marks on his hip. There was still a scar, though much less noticeable. By using skin grafts, the dark, raised letter was gone, leaving a round, flat area of scar tissue that would eventually fade to white. Harm still had days where something would trigger a memory and his fingers would automatically gravitate to that spot and rub at it out of habit. Sometimes, he could still feel the phantom pain of the branding causing the memories of that long ago day, and all the other days leading up to it, to come flooding into his mind and wash over him. It always left him feeling shaken and distressed.

After Mac's tour of duty commanding Naval Legal Service Office Southwest, she still had not made full bird Colonel. She and Harm knew they did not want to settle down in California once she was retired from the Marine Corps, mainly because the cost of living was so high. She was transferred to serve as a Military Judge for the Navy-Marine Corps Trial Judiciary, Southern Circuit in Jacksonville, Florida. It was to be her last duty station. Upon reaching her twenty year mark, she made the decision to retire and pursue a civilian law career.

Harm and Mac liked living in Florida and had decided to settle in the north central Florida area. By this point in time, the economy had been in a slump for a few years, with real estate prices dropping considerably. After Mac found a job with a small law firm in Ocala, she and Harm went house hunting. Thanks to diligent saving, investing, and living below their means since before they were married, they were able to buy a lovely home on the outskirts of Ocala in a unique, gated community called Leeward Air Ranch. It had its own runway and attracted various vintage aircraft and warbird enthusiasts. Each home had an attached hangar for a small plane in addition to the two car garage. The driveways and streets led right to the runway strip. Harm would have something in common with the other residents. He would be able to work on his beloved Stearman right at home; no more rented hangar space. Their single level, block and stucco house sat on a one half acre lot and contained over twenty one hundred square feet of living area. The master suite was spacious with a jetted tub in the bathroom. There were two more bedrooms, another bath, and a generously sized lanai with a built-in grill and wet bar. The gourmet kitchen featured granite countertops, custom cabinetry, and stainless steel appliances. The flooring throughout was Italian ceramic tile, except for the bedrooms, which had hardwood floors. Harm made plans to turn one of the bedrooms into an office for Mac. The other one ended up being an exercise room where Harm kept his gym equipment.

As soon as they were all moved in, Harm enrolled at the Malcom Randall VA Medical Center in Gainesville, which was part of the North Florida/South Georgia Veterans Health System. By this point in time, Harm had been in therapy for well over seven years and had been taking Paxil the entire time. He had gained more than forty pounds since his Navy career ended. He carried it well, though; broader through the chest and shoulders, a bit thicker in the abdominal area, and his face was fuller. He was still a solid, handsome man, in spite of the graying at his temples. Since running with his bad knees was out of the question, he worked out with weights and machines and managed to do a lot of walking.

The psychiatrist Harm was assigned to put him on a maintenance type schedule with appointments every six to eight weeks, just to monitor that he remained stable. Since his stress level was low, he hardly ever had full blown panic attacks anymore. Harm didn't like the side effects of Paxil and wanted to discontinue his use of the antidepressant. He was weaned off of it, gradually, to see how he managed without it.

Harm and Mac got to know their neighbors and socialized occasionally on weekends. To avoid too many questions, they decided not to tell people about his disabled status or PTSD, preferring to simply say that he was 'retired.' When Mac was at work, Harm tended to keep to himself, though he did take up golf. One of Harm's favorite activities was visiting the Ocala National Forest, exploring hiking trails and going horseback riding. He and Mac often went together on the weekends, but he would also go on his own.

After a year or so with no medication, he started backsliding a little, some of the anxiety symptoms flaring up, so his doctor put him on a newer drug, Citalopram. Harm gave it a chance for several months, as it was supposed to level out his moods. However, all he noticed was an increased appetite. In fact, he felt ravenous all the time and began gaining even more weight from the constant snacking.

The main source of Harm's guilt these days was the fact that their sex life was nearly nonexistent. He had absolutely no sex drive, never aroused enough to initiate their lovemaking. After a while, Mac had stopped trying to initiate sex, as well. She didn't want to put any pressure on Harm to perform, so she simply took care of her needs on her own. Although Mac had always been very understanding, Harm felt bad anyway. He sometimes wondered why she put up with him. They got over the fact that they never had children and got along great in all other aspects, achieving a different kind of intimacy. He knew how lucky he was to have her in his life.

Over the years, Mac kept in touch with Harriett via e-mail. Bud and the kids were doing well. Unfortunately, Mac and Harm had lost track of Clayton Webb. The last thing anyone had heard was that he'd been sent to an alcohol rehab program and then was 'retired' from The Company. Nobody had any clue where he might have gone; he simply disappeared.

The only closure Harm had ever gotten was knowing that the man who orchestrated his abduction and abuse was dead. The other two perpetrators were never found. NCIS had given up the search and it officially became a cold case file. Harm understood better than most that justice isn't always served, that the criminals don't always get punished, or even caught. Sometimes, bad people get away with doing bad things. Harm had to accept that and just try to live his life the best he could. He tried not to dwell on what might have been or where he would be if that trauma had never happened.

Harm was grateful for the help and care he received at the VA. At one of his appointments, the doctor addressed the effects of Harm's medication. Harm wanted to go on a diet but could not summon up the will power. He also felt numb emotionally and lacked energy. His doctor agreed to get him off the Citalopram and try an entirely different type of antidepressant that did not cause weight gain or sexual dysfunction. Bupropion wasn't usually prescribed for PTSD patients as it could exacerbate anxiety. However, it was not only used for depression, it was also known to help with appetite control and weight loss, to stop smoking, and hopefully improve sexual response. Harm felt it was worth a shot to at least try it. He continued to be monitored to find the right dosage. It took six months for him to lose twenty pounds, but the accomplishment made him feel good, which outweighed the negative side effects. It was worth it to him, even though the drug caused increased sweating, insomnia, and made him feel jittery.

Nowadays, Harm had more good days than bad days. In fact, he functioned fairly well, as long as he kept his life simple and tranquil. He avoided confrontation and uncomfortable situations and kept himself busy. He had no trouble keeping himself entertained, whether tinkering in the garage or hangar, exercising, or reading. He faithfully kept his VA appointments and he was involved with several on-line support groups, helping other veterans navigate the disability claim system. He did almost all the cooking, maintenance and was good at finding home improvement projects. At times, Harm would go several days without ever leaving the house and be perfectly content, though he could go out when he had to. Living in a gated community gave him a level of safety that he hadn't felt in years. On the outside, Harm looked completely normal; no one who encountered him would ever guess he had a disability. It had taken years of counseling for him to finally let go of the shame and guilt of not earning a living and accepting his limitations.

***

The house was cool and dark when Mac walked in. She had gotten home from work a little earlier than usual. It was a blistering hot summer day, the humidity making the air heavy with moisture. One could almost set a clock by the typical pattern of afternoon thunderstorms during rainy season. The moisture from the earlier rain was literally steaming up from the hot pavement as the sun came back out. The air conditioning system was cranking and all the plantation shutters on the windows were closed to keep out the sun's heat and light. Mac found Harm stretched out in his overstuffed recliner, wearing khaki shorts and a cream colored polo shirt. He had obviously been napping and appeared a bit flushed, or maybe it was sunburn. Knowing Harm was a light sleeper, Mac was sure he had heard her come home.

"Hey you, I caught you snoozing," she grinned.

"Wow, you're home," Harm blinked sleepily. "I must've drifted off longer than I meant to. What time is it?"

"Don't worry, I'm early. It was a slow day at the office, so I'm all caught up."

"That's good." Harm was glad Mac liked her job. She had a great boss; the two women got along really well. "Dinner's mostly ready. I just need to fire up the grill."

"No rush. What are we having?"

"Stuffed tilapia and brown rice pilaf and I made a cucumber salad."

"Yum! How was your day?"

"I got in a round of golf," Harm smiled happily.

"Oh, I don't know how you do it; it's brutal outside. You must be exhausted."

"I'll take the heat over a snow storm any day." Harm's arthritis acted up in cold weather, so the heat helped keep his joints flexible.

"Well, I'm going to go get comfortable," Mac announced. The first thing she always did when she got home from work was to get out of her work clothes and put on a pair of shorts and a tank top or a strappy sundress to keep cool.

During dinner, they talked about plans for the following weekend to drive down to Disney World in Orlando, one of their favorite places to visit. They had to decide which one of the many restaurants to try, so they could make reservations. Since they had gotten Florida resident passes, they could go whenever the mood struck them.

Later, after finishing supper, Harm cleaned up and put everything away. The sun hung just above the horizon. Every evening, they watched the sunset from their lanai, cuddled together on a cushioned loveseat rocker, listening to soft music and drinking tall glasses of ice cold Arnold Palmer; a half lemonade, half iced tea concoction.

"I'll never get tired of this view," Mac said in the fading light. The clouds were tinged with pink and violet as night approached.

"You know, I've been thinking," Harm said a few minutes later, looking over their back yard.

"Uh-oh," Mac snickered. "Why do I get the feeling that spending money is somehow involved?"

"Remember when we talked about the possibility of putting in a pool or a hot tub?"

"Yeah, and we shelved that discussion until we could finish decorating and furnishing the house."

"Which is pretty much done and we did a great job, Mac. The place looks beautiful," Harm said with pride. "I did some research and found something that would give us the benefits of both exercise and hydrotherapy. It's called a swim spa. It takes up less space than a pool and it generates an adjustable current so that you can swim in place. It also has seating and jets for relaxing."

"That does sound intriguing."

"I could show you pictures and websites on-line. I do miss swimming, Mac."

"Well then, let's look into it; crunch the numbers and all that. We'll need more landscaping, too."

"Really?"

"Yup. We'll have to put in privacy shrubs all around the back."

Harm's face lit up. "I like the way you think. Maybe we could add a couple of loquat trees to go with our orange tree while we're at it."

"M-m-m, we'll see," Mac smirked, as she looked up at Harm fondly.

They relaxed side by side, quietly watching the darkening scenery. Harm sighed contentedly, his thoughts wandering to how his life was now. Years ago, he never would have imagined it turning out the way it did. He was fortunate to share his life with his best friend, who loved him and took such good care of him, and who he was still madly in love with. They had a comfortable, gorgeous home where he felt safe and they had nice friends and neighbors. Between his monthly government checks, Mac's military pension and her current job, they had financial security. His medical issues and health care needs were all being met by either the VA or referred to civilian providers when necessary. His anxiety was under control most of the time and the nightmares had become less frequent. Sometimes, it felt like the trauma had happened a lifetime ago and was just a distant memory.

Harm was no longer a victim and he was not alone. He was a survivor and, though he never would have wished his circumstances on anybody, he felt lucky to be alive, to be here and look forward to each new day. He had made a vow to himself that he would always find something positive and do something he enjoyed every single day.

Harm had come to accept that the terrible ordeal he'd been through, and the resulting PTSD, had permanently altered a part of his brain. He would always have difficulty with short term memory and concentration, which would leave him slightly confused, but mostly just annoyed. Having a low startle point and being hyper-vigilant was just a part of him now. This was his new life and it was definitely worth living.

Even with the breeze from the ceiling fan, the evening was still quite warm. Mac had leaned in and was now pressed against Harm's shoulder. He brought his arm up and over, pulling his wife further down and tucking her under his chin.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Caryn and I were talking today and she was telling me a story about one of her clients," Mac said, as she nuzzled against Harm's chest. "Apparently, the guy had rescued a dog, but is unable to keep it. He was told that it had washed out of service dog or police dog training or something a year ago, so it's still pretty young. She had a picture of it, absolutely beautiful."

"Are you saying it needs a home?"

"Yeah, so I was wondering, what would you think about getting a dog?" Mac lifted her head to look into Harm's eyes.

Harm was silent for several seconds as he seemed to consider his answer. Then, he grinned. "I think that's a wonderful idea! What does it look like?"

"Caryn said it's a Belgian Tervuren, smart, trained and an excellent watchdog. I'm sure I can get the picture tomorrow to show you. I don't even know if it's male or female."

"Well, tell Caryn we'd like to meet this dog if it's up for adoption. I wonder why it didn't graduate from the training school."

"They were told something about a nervous condition; afraid of loud noises like thunderstorms and fireworks."

"H-m-m, sounds like a perfect match to me," Harm said with a huge smile.

Laughing, Mac threw her arms around him and peppered his face with kisses.

"Ah, not that I don't enjoy being sweaty and plastered against you on this muggy evening, but we should probably move inside soon," Harm chuckled.

"Oh, wait, in a minute. I love this song." Mac settled back against his chest and he squeezed her tightly as they listened.

Yes, Harm knew life might not always be perfect, but they had each other, and everything was better together. He could not ask for anything more than that.

 

*Somewhere in the darkest night  
Peace will come, as the spirit flies  
As you weave a spell by another name  
Snow falls with the summer rain

Then I will come to you my love  
With the passing of the days  
And I will set you free each time  
Your heart is bound in chains  
Innocents and wiser men   
Will somehow be the same  
And you and I will take our place in time  
We’ll find a way to fly

Far beyond the crystal sea  
I can hear all your whispered dreams  
And the endless sighs of the ones who love  
They live on in the stars above

Then I will come to you my love  
With the passing of the days  
And I will set you free each time  
Your heart is bound in chains  
Innocents and wiser men  
Are all who will remain  
And you and I will take our place in time  
We’ll find a way to fly*

*******

FINALE

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a work of dramatic fiction. I make no apologies for the graphic, adult content that is integral to portraying characters in extreme circumstances. They say to write about what you know; certain details (and which ones are known only to me) of this story were drawn from first-hand experiences with sexual assault in the military, brainwashing, PTSD and disability. The rest came from my imagination. It has been a cathartic release for me to use fictitious characters to write this difficult tale. I felt compelled to get the plot bunny out of my head and into written words. It is my hope that readers find this novel worthy of their time. I do apologize for the extremely long time it took to finally finish it. The two year plus hiatus was due to various uncontrollable circumstances. I hope I wrapped up Harm's saga with a satisfying conclusion.  
> For more information about PTSD and recovery, there are many good books and Internet websites on the subject. In particular, 'The Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook' by Glenn R. Schiraldi, Ph.D. is extremely valuable for both trauma survivors and their families. My autobiographical true story has been published, along with other Veterans' stories, in a non-fiction book: 'Honor Betrayed: Sexual Abuse in America's Military' by Dr. Mic Hunter. Both books can be found at Amazon.com.  
> Please feel free to e-mail me at: navyvet@mail2doglover.com with any questions, comments or concrit.
> 
> CREDITS: Excerpts of lyrics used to accompany this story are of songs from the following compact discs: Queen of the Damned soundtrack written by Jonathan Davis and Richard Gibb; Believe by Disturbed; Awake by Godsmack; Take A Look in the Mirror by Korn; A Day Without Rain by Enya. Nimue's Lament is from the cd The Merlin Mystery by Alkaemy.
> 
> The title of the Epilogue, 'A New Life,' is taken from JAG's pilot episode by the same name. The start of the TV series referred to Harm's significant career path change from jet pilot to JAG lawyer, thus beginning a new phase of his life.
> 
> A premier airpark, The Leeward Air Ranch is a sports aviation community in Ocala, Florida. http://www.leewardairranch.com/  
> A more exclusive, well-known, fly-in community in the Ocala area is Jumbolair Aviation Estates. The homes are required to have at least 3,200 square feet of living space. John Travolta is one of the more famous residents there.  
> Marion County is known for its horse farms and has been referred to as the horse capital of the world. http://www.ocalacc.com/ocala_florida/templates/tourism.aspx?articleid=18   
> There are also many outstanding communities and golf courses throughout central Florida. It really is a wonderful area.


End file.
